Pack a Smile Series
by Vashti
Summary: Charles is sent to take care of Veruca, but it turns out his mission has only just begen when he learns she's already been taken care of.
1. Laws are for the Lawless

**Title** : Laws are for the Lawless  
 **Series** : Pack a Smile  
 **Author** : Vashti  
 **Fandom** : Mercy Thompson Series, BtVS  
 **Character(s)** : Charles Cornick, Buffy, Whistler  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **Summary** : Charles is sent to deal with Veruca.  
 **Length** : ~1180  
 **Prompt** : written for the August 2016 Twisted Shorts ficathon  
 **Disclaimer** : Only the words are mine, and that's probably up for philosophical debate.  
 **Dedication** : the Twisted Shorts gang! Ya'll are some of my favorite writer-people.  
 **Notes** : This has been edited since it's first posting, but if you read it .last summer, this story is virtually the same.

* * *

It was tempting to look over the description of his quarry one more time, just to make sure he wasn't making a mistake, but it had been years – centuries – since he had needed those kind of reassurances. The description that had come to the Marrok, his father, had been clear and concise. The young female, Veruca, was well known and well-traveled in this part of the country. Rising fame had made it easy enough to cross-reference her movements with incidents of unusual deaths in local papers, as well as find photos of her with her band.

Even light research revealed that while Veruca might have once been careful with her kills she hadn't in some time. Recent evidence pointed to increasing recklessness. He and the Marrok suspected that her uncontested actions were fueling her brazenness. The Marrok was thus partly to blame for the deaths that had happened under her claws. He had therefore sent his enforcer, his son, to handle the situation.

Charles Cornick, son and enforcer and, tonight, executioner for his father, Bran Cornick, Marrok of the North America werewolves, stepped out of his rental car. Tall and muscular, he knew that he was an imposing man. With his distinctly American Indian features – his mother had been Salish Indian – and generally stoic demeanor around all but those closest to him, most people found him intimidating. That his brother wolf was an alpha second only to his own father cinched the impression. There were few who weren't struck by his presence, usually threaded with fear. Humans didn't know why they feared him. They attributed it to his size, to his maleness, his ethnicity or his silence. Other werewolves understood that they were in the presence of a predator greater themselves. Often that was more than enough to get the answers that he wanted, or to enforce his father's law. But not always.

Charles' eyes drifted closed as he scented the air. Brother Wolf's nose was better, but Charles wanted to conserve his energy. It might be the outer edge but he was still in the Slayer's territory. If Charles was the whip in his father's hand, then the Slayer was a campfire tale where most of the stories were true. Unlike many segments of the supernatural community, werewolves were not evil in and of themselves although their immense power couple with their very human natures lent them to it. They occupied something of a gray area on the Slayer's radar. The Marrok's consolidation of power over the North American wolves had meant that the Slayer interfered only rarely. Charles' appointment as the Marrok's arm of justice had turned her into a myth. It had been decades since he'd run into one, and it would please him to keep it that way.

Charles exhaled and opened his eyes. There was hunting to do.

* * *

Three days in Sunnydale had proven to be surprisingly unproductive. It was possible, of course, that Veruca had already moved on or, more likely, that the Slayer had gotten to her. Charles doubted it was the latter. Word would have reached the Marrok, and his father would have contacted him. If it was the former, however, Charles would be moving on himself. Humans weren't as organized as werewolves tended to be, but they weren't stupid. Veruca getting caught was a problem for all of them.

There was also the possibility that she had gone into hiding. He didn't think so, however, and neither did Brother Wolf. The spirits he'd encountered in Sunnydale were malignant, if not actively malicious, but even here on the Hellmouth Charles had no doubt that the Veruca's victims would seek justice.

Charles pushed his way into the local demon bar. A handful of the patrons deigned to look up at him, but he went largely ignored. Charles studied the room, letting his presence extend beyond himself. More heads turned. A few demons left. Ignoring them, Charles went to the bar.

The bartender looked up from the beer he was pouring and paled, nearly dropping the glass. "You're back."

"I am."

"Did you, ah, find what you're lookin' for?"

"I did not."

Several of the demon patrons at the bar got up and moved somewhere else.

"You, ah….you didn't?" Sweat had broken out on the little man's forehead. "That's surprising. Did she, uh, move out of her dorm or something?"

"No one's seen her in quite some time, actually?"

"That so?"

"It is."

The rest of the demons got up from the bar.

"Are you holding out on me, Willy?"

"I…I would…I would never hold out on a son of the Marrok."

Charles nodded. "Good to know. Now, what else do you know?"

"Am I going to have to call animal control?"

Charles didn't respond.

"Because not only do they kinda suck, they're not open after 10 and, oops! It's two in the morning."

But he did turn. "Slayer."

A petite blond stood well out of reach, a well-cared for battle ax resting on one shoulder. "Aw, you know who I am but I don't know who you are, Tall Hot Guy."

Charles had a strong, and deeply uncharacteristic, urge to grin. "My name is Charles Cornick. My father is the Marrok."

The Slayer frowned. "Uh…he's the head wolf-guy dude, right?"

A very strong urge to grin. "Close enough."

"So, Mr. Son of the Marrok…what're you doing standing in my park in the middle of the night when I should be getting my beauty sleep."

"I'm looking for a rogue wolf."

"Don't got none."

"I believe you had one – a female named Veruca."

The Slayer's nose wrinkled in, probably unintentionally, adorable disgust. But it didn't mask the sudden uptick in tension from here. "Ugh. Skank-face. I hope you didn't like her. We had to put her down."

Spreading his hands in a placating gesture, Charles said, "I was sent here by my father to do the same."

"Oh!" The Slayer's mood immediately brightened. "Yay then."

"I assume I have you to thank."

"Uh, actually, another werewolf. Veruca was going after his main girl and he made with ixnay on killing my girl-ay, and he kinda took her out instead."

"Hmm."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "What is this 'hmm'? I don't like hmms." And true to her words, her tension level had gone up again.

"I'll have to take it up with the Marrok."

"Hey, even you just said that Veruca was off in loony land. Oz did you guys a favor."

"I still have to take it to my father."

The Slayers eyes narrowed again. "You do that, and if I hear that something has happened to my friend I'm going to be a very unhappy Slayer."

"I'll relay the message."

"Goody. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm looking forward to never seeing you again Charles Cornick."

"The feeling is mutual, Slayer."

"Buffy. My name is Buffy."

"Buffy," he said, inclining his head to her.

"And you didn't laugh or anything. Please don't hurt Oz. You're kinda nifty."

"Thank you. I think."

Fin[ite]

* * *

 **Notes2** : The whole series is written (for once)! I'm going to try to post every few days or once a week. This will get significantly harder in August because of the 2017 ficathon and my crazy August-life. If you think I've forgotten, I give you free license to poke me :)


	2. Don't Forget What's Right

**Title:** Don't Forget What's Right  
 **Character(s):** Oz Osbourne, Charles Cornick  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Charles and Oz catch up to each other on the road.  
 **Length:** ~1030  
 **Notes:** written for the August 2016 Twisted Shorts ficathon. If you read this in August, it was originally entitled "Lawgiver".

* * *

Oz had never met anyone who spoke less than he did until Charles Cornick found him outside LA. He finally understood how other people could find it unnerving. Or maybe there was something a little terrifying about the first dominant werewolf he met being second only to the leader of all the werewolves in North America. It was like finding himself on the wrong side of Buffy's fists, without the reassuring knowledge that she was his friend and would do all she could not to hurt him.

On the plus side, Charles was extremely handy in a fight...just like Buffy.

"Huh."

Charles spared Oz a glance from behind the wheel of the rental car they were using, but didn't say anything.

Oz dipped his head and brought his eyes back to the road. He'd long ago given up the struggle between how he thought he should act around the older man...wolf...person, and what his instincts told him he should do. Tomorrow he could let the fear that he was becoming more animal than man circle each other infinitum. Assuming he lived that long. Tonight he was happy-content to...

Tonight he was alive, and that was enough.

Oz felt Charles' attention directed his way again, this time for longer than a glance, but it was turned away before instinct forced Oz to react. Well, react beyond the hairs that were standing up on his arms and the back of his neck. More than Charles' size – both height and muscle mass – he had a presence that was...a lot like Buffy's. Oz would have grinned if the man/wolf/person next to him weren't so comfortingly terrifying. Of all the things to remind him of home, he wouldn't have guessed it would be another werewolf.

There had been a brown-skinned kid, not much younger than himself, Oz would have guessed. And there had been a demon, a livid purple and gray that was unlike anything Oz had seen before. It had reminded him of a giant wound on a corpse. And behind the demon, a pale woman in a dirty glass cage. Oz hadn't wanted to think about why the cage was dirty, or why the woman was in it. It had been enough that she was trying desperately to get out of it – one whole arm was a bright burning red edging into black from where she'd probably been banging it repeatedly against the walls – while this kid, maybe her kid, maybe a stranger, was baiting the walking corpse-wound demon. Baiting it and losing to it.

Luckily, they'd been on the backside of the full moon. Oz had little trouble slipping his human skin. He would have rathered helped the kid as a man, but he hadn't been planning on demon-hunting when he fled Sunnydale. The only supplies he'd had on hand were the requisite stake and holy water. It hadn't looked like the stake-and-holy-water kind of demon.

Instinct and experience had told him to go for the throat. Oz had speed on his side, but the demon had a longer reach and was much stronger. And he had been tired. He hadn't slept well since his last full moon in Sunnydale. He couldn't remember what happened with Veruca, but his body remembered and at night his muscles tried to relive the story his mind had chosen to forget.

Soon Oz had found himself being batted around just as badly as the kid. If he could have, he would have told the kid to run, get help. Whether he would have left the women, Oz couldn't have guessed but there would be no one to spread the word about the corpse-wound demon if all three of them fell to it. And it was always easier to fight with one less person to worry about. But Oz hadn't been able to talk. He'd been lucky (unlucky?) that the kid hadn't decided that he was an enemy, too. Or maybe he had and just couldn't deal with two monsters at once.

It hadn't mattered. Oz had barely been able to keep up with the demon when he jumped in. Maybe if he'd made the killing blow the first time. But he hadn't. They had all been going to die.

Then a snarling mass of muscle and fur had flown over Oz, neatly using him as a springboard without hurting him. Even with his enhanced senses, Oz had barely been able to follow along. Quickly giving up, he'd first herded the kid away from the corpse-wound demon. Then he'd gone back to harry the monster's heels. The horrible taste in his mouth had spurred him on.

The other wolf had managed to get the demon by the throat, and had just hung on. Oz went for the Achilles tendon. And between them they'd brought the demon down.

They had utterly destroyed the demon. They had freaked out the humans, but that was okay because they were alive to be freaked.

Then had come the moment when the other wolf had gone human again. Fully clothed. While Oz had fought against his wolf's bloodlust.

Rough hands had gripped him about the head. Oz's fur and claws had receded. His bones had reshaped himself. His human mind had, mostly, returned.

But he was still naked. Not that it had mattered. With the other werewolf's hands buried deeply in his hair, Oz hadn't had the strength of mind to stand. Crouched over, almost kneeling, felt…right.

"What's your name?"

Oz had taken a shuddering breath before answering.

"I've been looking for you."

"Who are you?"

"Charles Cornick. The Marrok sent me." He'd stood.

Oz really had shuddered then.

"Get up. Let's go."

So they were going. To meet the Marrok. According to Charles it would take them more than half a day of non-stop driving, a full day if they did stop. Although it had been said without inflection, Oz had no intention of asking for a stop. To be honest, he wasn't sure what to do with himself for the next…thirteen hours.

He kind of wished Charles would say something.

Fin[ite]

* * *

 **Notes2:** Do you actually read my notes?


	3. In Your Presence

**Title:** In Your Presence  
 **Character(s):** Charles Cornick, Oz Osbourne  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Oz and Charles, on the road to meet the Marrok  
 **Length:** ~700  
 **Notes:** Written for the August 2016 TwistedShorts ficathon on LJ.

* * *

"Have you ever met the Vampire Slayer?" the boy asked him about ten hours into their trip.

He'd been quiet for most of that time, which Charles found surprising. Not one for unnecessary words, Charles found that most people became broken chatterboxes when forced into his company for more than a moment or two, as if needing to speak for both of them. But the boy, Oz, said only what was absolutely necessary. In that regard, he was a worthwhile traveling companion. It could have only been better if the boy's silence wasn't largely prompted by his fear.

When Charles had told the boy his name and that he was being taken to see the Marrok, Oz had understood everything said and unsaid without explanation. He'd had more questions – all unasked – about Charles being fully clothed after shifting than why he was being herded into a comfortable rental car not twenty minutes after they'd viciously ripped apart the demon that had been terrorizing a woman and her teenaged son. It had almost made Charles smile, this infant werewolf who was unfazed by demons but baffled by clothing that magically appeared on their own. There was little point in making friends with a wolf he might have to execute tomorrow, however.

Charles had hoped that Oz would share some, if not all, of his story once they were on the road. Other than pointing out signs and the occasional roadkill, Oz didn't speak except for one soft "Huh" early on in their trip. It was Charles' own protective nature that prompted them to stop as much as they did. He suspected that if he waited for Oz to indicate he needed a bathroom break, the kid would have long since died of a UTI.

After the second stop, the boy seemed to relax. He even asked if they could listen to the radio. "Just want to know what's going on in the world."

There seemed to be more to the request than that, more than wanting to break the silence, but Charles had nodded. The sun had long since risen by then. The extra sound wouldn't disturb his senses any more than the other motorists around them.

He'd given himself an hour, long enough to listen to two full cycles of a local non-stop news station, before switching it off. "Thank you."

Charles had nodded. There hadn't been another word between them until this very moment, when Oz asked about Charles' past with the Slayers.

"I've met several. This one only once."

"When you were looking for me." He said it as a statement, not a question. Charles had been right in guessing that the boy understood why Charles had been searching for him.

"You remind me of her," Oz said.

Charles' head turned. The boy was studiously looking out the windshield, muting the effect of Charles' flat unamusement. "How so?" he said as he, too, turned to the road.

"Not gender-wise, obviously. Or height or bulk or anything."

Charles pictured this most recent Slayer in his mind: petite, blond, very feminine. Charles' hair was longer. He very deliberately did not chuckle.

When it became obvious there wasn't going to be a response, Oz said, "It's a vibe you give off. I didn't really get it until I became a wolf. Some of it, but not all of it. Regular people don't get it," he finished softly, trailing off. Charles would have thought that the boy had fallen asleep mid-speech but his heart rate and breathing remained steady and alert-quick.

"And she plays it off. Under all that blond cheerleaderness. But she's really protective when she's not being scary." Oz nodded to himself. "Yeah. Like that."

Charles fought not to wrinkle his brow and study the boy beside him.

Who, for the first time in over ten hours, had decided to go to sleep.

Fin[ite]


	4. Pack a Smile

**Title:** Pack a Smile  
 **Character(s):** Charles Cornick, Oz Osbourne  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Charles and Oz pick up a hitchhiker on the way to their destination.  
 **Length:** ~1270 words  
 **Notes:** Written for the August 2016 TwistedShorts ficathon on LJ.

* * *

"There's someone up ahead," said Oz five hours outside Aspen Creek. A quick glance in Charles' direction told him little, so he added, "I think we should stop for him. See if he needs a ride."

Charles spared him a glance of his own then. "What if he's not going our way?"

Oz shrugged. "Then he's not and we keep going."

"What if he's dangerous?"

A snort of laughter escaped Oz. To which Charles did not react at all. Oz's eyes snapped to him. "You were joking, right?"

But they were already pulling over before he'd finished asking. Since his window was rolling down as they pulled up close, Oz took that as the sign that he was speaking for them both. He gave the guy a quick once over as he leaned out of the window. If Oz had to guess, he'd say they were about the same age, no more than a year or two apart. "Hey…need a ride?"

"Yeah. If you're going my way that'd be great."

"Where ya goin'?"

"Um, Troy? You know it?"

Oz turned to Charles, who nodded. Oz passed the nod along.

The guy lips lifted in a pleased smile. "Great."

The doors unlocked and the guy reached for the back door. Oz unlocked his door and hopped out. "Take the front seat, man."

Frowning, the guy stepped back from the door.

Hands up, Oz said, "Hey, it's cool. I just figured you know where you're going, you might as well sit up front." Actually his instincts were screaming at him that he shouldn't have a stranger sitting at his back. If he felt that way he could only imagine what was going through Charles' head. And if the older wolf didn't like it, Oz was sure he'd let them all know.

The other guy nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Okay, I'll take the front seat."

Oz ducked back into the car. "That's okay, right?"

Charles looked at him thoughtfully, but didn't seem annoyed by Oz's impulsive move. "It's a good idea."

Oz's lips twitched toward a smile. Then he stepped back from the door. "If you want, you can throw your stuff in the back seat."

"Thanks."

Two minutes later, they were on the road.

* * *

The boy didn't look back over his shoulder as he walked toward the rest stop, but Charles could feel that he wanted to. The errand wasn't entirely frivolous, he needed his protein. They all did. Hungry wolves were problem wolves, no matter how calm they might be otherwise. It wasn't the first time Charles had sent Oz inside while he gassed up the rental. The issue, of course, was their hitchhiker.

"You like him," Bran said as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

"You didn't hitchhike to the middle of nowhere Montana to tell me that," Charles said as he slipped his credit card into the slot.

"Technically I didn't hitchhike at all."

Charles huffed a laugh.

"But you do like him."

"He's a good traveling companion. They're hard to come by. And now you're the one avoiding the question."

"You haven't actually asked me one, Son."

Charles spared his father a look. Bran grinned at him, face full of college-student nonchalance. "Why did you technically not hitchhike all the way to the middle of nowhere Montana, Da?"

"I got a call from the Slayer's Watcher. Oz is one of her people."

Surprise raised Charles' eyebrows. "Since when did the Slayer have people?"

Bran shrugged, watching Charles pump gas into the rental "Since this one was Called, I guess."

Charles frowned. "When she asked me not to hurt him, I didn't think she knew him personally."

"Apparently she does."

Charles finished pumping and replaced the gas nozzle. "What does that mean for us?"

"In the long-term, nothing. Right now, a little more caution is in order. Or it would have been." He was talking to Charles, but his body was turning towards the rest-stop. The boy was coming back.

"Why would it have been?" Charles asked, although he already suspected the answer.

His father's lips twitched. "Well if you like him, he can't be that bad, can he?"

"He killed another wolf."

"A rogue I myself sent you to kill. He did us a favor."

Charles' eyes narrowed. "This sounds like something the Slayer might have said."

Smiling brightly, Bran opened the passenger side door. "You should introduce us."

Charles rolled his eyes, proud of himself for not actually rubbing at the headache trying to form behind his eyes.

By the time he had rounded the boot of the car, the boy had returned with enough fast food to feed a small army, a pack of teenaged boys, or three adult werewolves. He noticed him check the passenger side door, even though he would have been able to see Bran slide inside as he walked their way.

"Everything okay?" Charles asked.

"Raised a few eyebrows, but yeah." Leaning toward Bran, he said, "You want something? I got plenty. Paid for it out of my roadtrip fund," he said relatively unnecessary. Except that Charles had been giving him money, the same amount of money, for all the food they'd eaten on the road, and this time had been no different.

Folding himself into the rental, Charles could hear his father smiling behind him as he accepted the offer of food.

Bran was right. He did like the boy. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to execute justice on someone that he liked, but he still found himself hoping that his father would take up the boy's cause.

* * *

They'd pulled over into the adjoining parking lot to demolish the fast food that Oz had bought. Oz was surprised by the kid's ability to put food away. Then again, poor hungry college student was a real thing. Becoming a werewolf had only seemed to mean he was hungry more often. Xander could still outdo him at Joyce's dinner table.

But now they were on the road again, just an hour outside of Troy. They'd drop off their new friend and then go on to Aspen Creek.

Their new friend who kept up a steady stream of polite chatter, nothing too deep or annoying. After nearly twenty-four hours of riding in near complete silence with Charles, Oz took it on himself to keep up the other half of the conversation.

"Hey," he said, interrupting a discussion on music that was actually become interesting. Mostly because it was becoming interesting. "Just realized…don't even know your name. I'm Oz."

"Oz—"

Charles' voice startled him.

"Yeah, Charles."

"This is Bran, my father. The Marrok."

Fin[ite]


	5. Music Man

**Title:** Music Man  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Oz Osbourne, Charles Cornick  
 **Rating:** K+/PG  
 **Summary:** Bran terrorizes Oz. He doesn't mean to.  
 **Length:** ~1445 words  
 **Dedication:** I'm perpetually grateful to the authors, readers and mods who participate in the Twisted Shorts August Fic-a-Day.  
 **Notes:** If you actually do read the notes, pleased to tell me in the comments what my favorite color is.

* * *

The last leg of the ride to Aspen Creek, Montana was...tense. More tense. For Oz, anyway.

Charles' words "This is Bran, my father. The Marrok." were still echoing in the back of Oz's head even after picking up the conversation he himself had interrupted to make introductions. Now he knew why his mom and Aunt Maureen, her sister, were such sticklers for being polite things like. You never knew who you were making idle pop culture conversation with. Maybe if he'd remembered his manners five hours ago...

"What do you think of Darling Violetta?" Bran, the Marrok, asked.

Luckily, the front of Oz's brain was still engaged. He was a little slow on the uptake but he was in close quarters with the two most powerful werewolves in North America, and he was still stringing together whole sentences. He was alive. Slow on the uptake was totally a thing they could all deal with.

"Pretty cool," Oz said eventually. He felt like his mouth was working on delay. "Played the same venue a couple of times. They were all really nice. I can never get a sense of who they are, though. The music I mean." Also, he was rambling. For him at least. "They always remind me of someone else."

"Yeah! Nice to know it's not just me."

"Nah, not just you, man. Sir."

Bran twisted around in his seat in a way that was vaguely unsettling. Oz was strongly reminded of the moment, just an hour past, when Bran had turned in the seat to shake Oz's hand after Charles' introduction. "Don't worry about it," the Marrok said now, college student persona all gone. "At least not for now."

Something must have shown on Oz's face, although he didn't register any changes, because the Marrok's lips thinned for a moment before he turned around again.

Or maybe that sour note Oz scented in the close air of the rental car was him.

* * *

"How do you know the current Slayer?" the Marrok asked.

They-the Marrok, Charles and Oz-were in a motel room in Aspen Creek that smelled strongly of cleaning products and steel. The motel itself was rustic and quaint, making the room seem spartan and cold in comparison.

Oz felt like he should be asking questions, of himself if no one else, but it was like there was a vacancy where his curiosity should be.

Gingerly seated on the edge of the bed (it was the only furniture in the room and, really, sitting on the floor seemed like an equally good option), Oz raised his eyes as far as the Marrok's shoulder. "I was going out with one of her best friends."

Standing near the motel room door, Charles seemed to twitch involuntarily. "Best friend?"

"One of them. I didn't really swing in the direction of the other one. Don't swing?" Oz said, talking to one of the distant walls. If he survived this, he promised himself he could have a good long freak-out tomorrow.

Without looking at either of them directly, Oz could tell that something had passed between the Marrok and Charles.

"That's a first," the Marrok said mildly. "So the wolf you killed, Veruca, she was one of the Slayers friends?"

Oz shuddered, eyes dropping to his hands. "No. Not at all. She's...she was the singer from another group at school."

"Where was her pack?" Charles asked.

"She didn't have one?" Brows furrowed, Oz tried to push past the cotton in his mind and remember his conversations with Veruca. "She...she had been attacked. And changed. But I don't remember ever mentioning any other wolves." Wait, that wasn't true. "No...she did. But not like...not like what I would think of as a pack. They sounded like encounters. Like they were just other wolves she knew, like how she knew the other local bands or other blond kids at school. Not like they were...they were..."

"Family?" the Marrok supplied.

"Yeah."

Oz's head hurt. Thinking so clearly about Veruca meant thinking clearly about a lot of things he'd been avoiding in the two months since he'd first... 'Slept with her' still felt too personal and intimate for what had actually happened. He desperately wanted to believe that it would have never happened if he'd been in control of the wolf.

"Where's your pack?" the Marrok asked, breaking through Oz's spiraling thoughts.

Oz's eyes swung up to meet his, before quickly dropping to the Marrok's shoulders again. "I didn't know any other werewolves until Veruca," he said, lying with ease.

His cousin Jordy was still only a child. Oz didn't blame him for what happened and neither should anyone else. If he'd been older and more mature, Oz would have never known that an entire branch of his family was furry. And if they were hiding it from the Marrok, there had to be a reason.

"What about the Slayer?"

Oz's brows furrowed.

"What's your relationship with her?"

"We're friends? I mean, even without dating Willow, she kinda saves our lives a lot. And when I got turned she didn't go for slay first, ask questions later. I really appreciated that."

Charles snorted.

"You knew her before you were turned?" the Marrok asked, the sense of him stronger than Oz had felt in the last five hours.

"Yeah."

"And her secret."

"Yeah."

"Fascinating."

Oz breathed in sharply as he was forcibly reminded of Xander during a nerd-out. At least the Marrok hadn't been eyeing a Twinkie as he said it.

"So you and the Slayer had a live-and-let-live policy?"

Oz shook his head. "I mean, yeah. I'm alive. But also, I was part of her team." At the rather heavy silence that followed, he added, "Me and Willow and Xander, we helped patrol and research the next Big Bad or whatever was going down."

"Xander is her watcher?" Charles asked.

"No, he's the best friend I don't swing to. Giles is the Slayer's watcher." Oz didn't know why they weren't calling Buffy by name, or why he was using everyone else's. His head hurt, his heart hurt all over again, and the low level fear he'd been living with since he'd ripped out Veruca's throat had been edging up the meter for hours. He was pretty sure he'd left "low" behind half a day ago. And he was really, really tired. Whatever energy he'd gotten from that nap in the car before the Marrok had appeared on the side of the road was long past gone.

Abruptly, Oz slipped bonelessly off the edge of the bed. It felt like someone had cut his strings. Even his eyes had slid closed, and were slow to open again. "Sorry," he mumbled. He reached behind himself to pull himself back up and stop annoying the two dominant (like really dominant) wolves in the room.

Which wasn't working either. Oz could feel his fear try to ratchet up another notch, but that cottony feeling was back and it couldn't be pushed through. "Sorry," he said instead, hoping they'd give him a pass. Hoping Charles was as much like Buffy as he felt.

The Marrok crouched in front of him, prompting Oz to actually hang his head so that their eyes wouldn't meet. They really were nearly the same height.

"Don't be sorry, pup. I did this. You need the rest."

Oz struggled to right himself, to keep his eyes. "But..."

"Your life is safe for a while yet. You need to rest," the Marrok said again.

Oz's body began to ripple and shake. Fur flowed freely over him as his bones cracked and reformed under his skin. It was pure, burning agony. Then suddenly it wasn't. Suddenly, in spite of the fur, it was like holding still under the surface of a swimming pool, feeling the sun's heat leach away from his body as cool and cooler water eddied around him in soothing ribbons. He'd never felt so good.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Bran or Charles had seen a wolf tainted by Hellmouth evil, but they were both disgusted by the boy's wolf all the same.

"This is why there are no packs allowed near Sunnydale," Bran said for his own benefit, Charles thought. "At least he can heal here."

"He's staying, then."

"For a little while, yes. He mentioned a band, but I never got to find out what he plays."

"He lied to you," Charles reminded his father.

Bran nodded. "He did. We'll work on that.

"In the meantime, I want you to find out who turned him and who turned Veruca. They lived in the same town. It was probably the same wolf, and I don't like rogues."

Fin[ite]


	6. Sometimes You Wonder

**Title:** Sometimes You Wonder  
 **Character(s):** Oz Osbourne, Sage Carhardt, Charles Cornick, Buffy Summers  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Oz feels better. Charles and Buffy have words – start to have words.  
 **Length:** ~1635 words  
 **Dedication:** Ava, for reading the notes ;) And as one of the people on the TwistedShorts comm who kept breathing life into this series last summer.

* * *

Oz felt the lock on his motel room door hesitate then slip when he tried the door.

It was a slam lock. Willow and Buffy had one on their dorm room. A toggle in the lock hardware kept the door locked to the outside, but allowed it to be open from within – no keys necessary.

The door had been locked, but not against him. The warm sense of protection that had let Oz relax into sleep hours ago, riding in the rental car with Charles, rolled over him again. Oz pressed a hand over his chest and took a deep breath. It felt like the first clean breath after being stuck in a fetid hole. Traveling to music festivals on his own and with the Dingoes, he'd experienced his fair share of really grotty port-a-potties. That moment when you stepped out and away from one (and the equally rank lines of people waiting their turn) and took a deep breath of clean air was almost indescribable. Oz felt like that. Except he'd been in a fetid hole for months instead of minutes.

He took another breath and smiled. They were in the mountains of Montana. This probably was the first clean breath he'd had in months, maybe years.

A mean little voice in the back of his head, curiously husky and female, told him that it wouldn't last. He'd have to pay for killing Veruca.

Oz went the five steps forward it took to clear the little concrete sidewalk that circled the motel and sat down. He was going to leave that voice behind unless or until it was something he had to deal with. In the meantime...he was really, really naked. And locked out of his room.

Oz rested his forehead against one of his raised knees and laughed.

* * *

Charles cautiously stepped out of his rental SUV. In his experience ormal humans seemed to have a fascination with testing their mortality against anything with four wheels and an axle. The University of California Sunnydale campus was no exception. They seemed to be bent on proving the rule, in fact, as Charles was swarmed with chattering, oblivious, college students halfway through opening the driver's side door. A coed on a cell phone glared at him, annoyed to find his way suddenly blocked. Until he looked up, and up, into Charles' stony face. The boy's mouth kept moving but the words were mostly nonsensical as he quickly backed up and found another pair of cars to pass between.

Years ago, Charles had been in New York City on a business trip for his father. He and the New Amsterdam pack alpha, Nicolaas, and the man's second had decided to walk from their offices in the West 30s down to Little Italy. The break had been more than welcome, and the leisurely walk through the surprisingly quiescent city had been good for all of them.

Nicolaas and his second had kept up a steady stream of conversation that was open to Charles but didn't require his participation, which he had appreciated. If not for the empty streets, he would have preferred less talking. Nicolaas hadn't been as old a wolf as most of the alphas with packs his size, but he had been – and still was – a thoughtful and insightful man.

Little Italy had been about as crowded with shops as Charles remembered from an earlier time in his life, cleaner though, but the people traffic was still unusually low. And, as always, he'd stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I don't know if I would feel comfortable going in there, even if it wasn't a private club."

The high, lyrical words had pulled Charles from his thoughts. Waiting for a light to turn, the three wolves had been stopped behind a brown-skinned woman and a younger darker-skinned girl. They smelled like family. It was the girl who had spoken.

"If I only went places where I didn't stick out, I wouldn't go anywhere," the woman had said, looking down at the girl. The girl had shrugged. The light changed. The woman had taken the girl's hand, and they had gone their way while Charles and the New Amsterdam wolves went theirs, but the truth of the woman's words had stuck.

Standing on the campus of UC Sunnydale, head and shoulders over most of the student body, and where he wasn't taller he was broader, New York and the woman words came back to him as they often did.

If Charles only went places where he didn't stick out, he wouldn't go very far at all.

The words had never failed to make him smile.

* * *

"Hello, hello!"

Oz's head shot up as he reflexively crossed his legs and arms against the very feminine voice headed his way.

The woman who approached him was tall and slender and, frankly, beautiful. Oz felt an uncharacteristic flush chase itself across his body. "Uh…"

She grinned. "I have that effect on people sometimes. You seem to be having a problem, darling."

"Uh…"

She laughed. "I didn't think the effect was that strong. Maybe it's the new perfume."

"I'm…I'm usually…better? At this?"

"I do hope so," she said, a solitary brow curving towards her sun-streaked brown hair. "Although you're a cute little thing."

Oz felt the blush racing along his skin again.

"I also hope you're not in the habit of sitting on the side of the road in your birthday suit."

Now Oz smiled a little. "Not usually, no. Locked myself out."

"That's okay, Ozzie. I have a key." She jangled it for emphasis.

Oz frowned. "You know my name. Sort of."

"Bran sent me." At his apparent confusion, she added, "The Marrok, darling."

"Oh." Now that she said it, he remembered Charles introducing him that way.

"Come on. I've got some clothes for you, darling."

Oz popped up to help her, noticing her bags for the first time, only to shy away when a stray wind reminded him that he was naked.

"Oh don't you worry. Body consciousness goes right out the window when you live with wolves."

"You…you know about werewolves?"

Smiling indulgently, she said, "Everyone in Aspen Creek knows about werewolves. You either are one or you're kin to one."

"So there's a wolf in your family?" Oz asked as she stepped up to the door to lock it.

She looked at him over her shoulder. "I am the wolf in my family. Come on, let's make you presentable."

* * *

It was tempting to wait for the Slayer in her dorm room, but Charles thought that would be too confrontational. He was trying to get her attention, not start a war. Instead he'd made a point of passing by the windows of her class. Now he was waiting for her in the hall.

Charles wasn't sure he'd ever lounged around a university campus before. He didn't see the appeal.

He didn't have to wait long, at least. Within minutes, rooms up and down the hall began spilling out students at some predetermined, but unknown to him, signal. Within moments, the Slayer was striding towards him.

Brother Wolf perked up within him. His Brother could sense the predator worthy of their notice amongst all the potential prey. Charles reminded him that they weren't there to play either.

"I doubt you'd come all this way to tell me you didn't play nice with Oz. Because if you did, that would be a bad idea and you didn't really seem like a bad idea kinda guy."

Charles' lips quirked. "I've been known to make a few—"

The Slayer's spine straightened and her stance widened.

"—but I don't think this is one of them."

She seemed to deflate. "Oh. Okay, then. Um…why are you stalking me at school?" she said as she turned to walk down the hall. Obviously he was meant to follow. His pride wanted him to stay. Brother Wolf found it amusing, and the Slayer intriguing. Charles fell into step just behind her.

"I thought showing up in your dorm room might be taken the wrong way," he said, answering her question.

Half-turning to look at him over her shoulder she nodded. "And you'd be right. So what else brings you to my 11:45, other than a desire to lower your creepy guy factor."

"The Marrok wants to find out who turned Veruca and your friend Oz. Rogues are not tolerated, especially not on a Hellmouth. No packs are allowed on a Hellmouth."

The Slayer scoffed. "Can't imagine why."

"This rogue might be trying to create a pack for himself," Charles went on, disregarding Buffy's aside. "That can't be allowed."

"Uh, and what'll you do with this rogue?"

Curiously, the Slayer's shoulders had curled in. She'd lost much of the confident swagger she'd had only moments before.

"Kill him, probably. Rogues can't usually be reasoned with or rehabilitated."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

* * *

"I'm Sage, by the way," the female werewolf said as she placed the shopping bags on the bed.

"Um, Oz. But you already know that."

"That I do," she said with a smile. "Now you've got the look of a man too embarrassed to get dressed around a pretty lady—"

"A beautiful lady."

Sage lit up with pure pleasure. "Oh I do hope we keep you."

Oz's answering smile dimmed a little. "Me, too."

"Well if not Aspen Creek then maybe the Columbia Basin Pack," Sage said as she made her way to the door.

"Columbia Basin Pack?"

"In Tri-Cities, Washington. Their alpha's a good man." Her eyes went soft when Oz didn't respond. Instead, his eyes had drifted to the floor. "You get dressed and I'll wait outside, alright darling? You've gotta meeting with the Marrok."

Fin[ite]


	7. Avoid Left Turns

**Title:** Avoid Left Turns  
 **Character(s):** Charles Cornick, Buffy Summers  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Charles and Buffy have more words.  
 **Length:** ~980 words

* * *

They were sitting in the Student Lounge – the Slayer curled up in the corner of a sofa that had seen better days and Charles dwarfed by a great chair that could have only been made in Southern California. "Former art project installation," she'd said when he'd eyed it warily. "Rumor has it that half the football team crammed themselves into it while it was still in the quad. I personally saw the entire lacrosse team and four cheerleaders sit in it once. The term 'sit' being used loosely."

She was now eyeing him over her frothy coffee drink in its ubiquitous paper cup as he sipped at a green tea. "Good?"

Charles dipped his head. "Surprisingly."

"All my tea-friends have the same reaction. Not that you and me are friends or anything," she added conversationally. "But just to let you know that I make my suggestions on good authority."

"Noted. Buffy."

She wrinkled her nose. "In your head you're not calling me 'Buffy' are you?"

His lips lifted in a vague smile. "I wouldn't dare call you anything but what you are."

"Perky college co-ed?"

Charles actually laughed. All the Slayers he had known were serious young women (one little more than a child), deeply aware of both their duty and mortality. This one was unlike any of them. The air of mortality hung around her, but he thought if he hadn't known it should be there, he wouldn't have.

"He smiles!" the Slayer said brightly.

"I've been known to."

"Uh huh." Her eyebrows were in her hairline as she hid behind the cup of her coffee drink.

"But I didn't come here for pleasantries."

The Slayer sighed heavily. "No one super ever does." She untucked her legs from under her body and scooted to the edge of the sofa. For the first time since their unexpected meeting several days ago, she was all business. "You said you - well, the Marrok - wants to know who turned Oz and Veruca."

"Correct."

"I have no idea who turned Veruca. From what I got from Oz, she'd been a were way longer than he was – at least a whole year. Oz would've only been a were for a couple of months back then."

"But you know who turned him."

She shook her head. "No, I don't know the wolf who turned Oz."

Charles was convinced that if she wasn't lying, she was skimming the very edge of truth. Brother Wolf agreed. The question, of course, was why. Why would a Slayer not give up a rogue wolf who was turning teenagers into Hellmouth tainted wolves? He would have thought it went against everything she was. Unless she was halfway to being a rogue slayer. The only problem with that theory was that, based on everything he could find, Buffy was every inch the righteous Vampire Slayer, down to the reckless fascination with her own mortality.

Unfortunately, Charles wasn't as fond of the kinds of games his father and elder brother (and he suspected this Slayer) excelled at. "You're lying to me."

Her jaw dropped in outraged surprise. Then just as suddenly her expression was again all business. "I am."

"I'm curious to know why."

"Will you leave Sunnydale if I say it's none of the Marrok's business?"

"No."

"Figures." She looked genuinely unhappy by her lack of options.

And distressed, Brother Wolf supplied.

Which only raised the question of why again. Instead Charles said, "So you do know the wolf who turned Oz?"

"I do not know the wolf who turned Oz," she said again, and it still was and wasn't a lie.

"Look," she said breaking into his thoughts, "isn't it enough that I'm here? I'm the Slayer, right? And so far I'm the longest lived one in history. Sorta technically. If the Slayer says she's got it handled, can't that be enough for your Marrok?"

"Is the rogue one of your relatives? A father or brother? Son?"

The Slayer almost spilled her drink. "What?"

Charles' reflexes and longer reach saved her from making an unintentional mess. He wondered if this would turn into a metaphor for his interactions with her in the future.

The Slayer all but snatched the disposable cup from his hands. "Why do you think the rogue's a relate?"

It took him a moment to determine what she meant. When he did, he said, "In my experience it's always the family who fight hardest. Even when they know better."

"I'm not related to the wolf that turned Oz, and I don't know him, but I'm not giving him up either." The Slayer stood. "He's mine."

Only centuries of self-control restrained the territorial growl that threatened to spill from his throat. Brother Wolf howled and tried to split his skin.

"I will not give him up to the Marrok to destroy."

Charles rose from his seat, using, he knew, muscles than a normal human man should not possess to do so. Standing, he dwarfed her by a foot or more even with the space between them. She looked him squarely in the eye and refused to back down. Only the presence of so many people - students, faculty, workers - kept the encounter from escalating into a fight.

"You're willing to go to the war with the oldest and most powerful wolf in North America over a rogue, Slayer?"

"No. I'm not. Gnaw on that bone."

She shifted around the small table between them. Charles snagged her wrist as she moved past. "Why did you choose to do this here, Slayer?"

Spine stiff, she tilted her head to one side. "Let. Me. Go."

Charles slowly released her wrist.

She took a very deliberate step away without appearing to lose ground. "Go back to the Marrok. Tell him I've got the rogue handled. Do not come looking for him again."

Then she left.

Charles swore and pulled out his phone.

Fin[ite]


	8. Leave Room for Tomorrow

**Title:** Leave Room for Tomorrow  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Sage Carhardt, Oz Osbourne, Asil Moreno  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Trouble is brewing while Sage and Oz go to visit her hothouse flower.  
 **Length:** ~1010 words  
 **Notes:** Thank you for the rec, Shanna!

* * *

Bran hung up with his son and frowned. He had assigned Sage the task of showing Oz around Aspen Creek. Their last stop would be his home which, if he had to guess, would mean he'd be seeing them by late morning. He could have called Sage in, have her bring the pup directly to the house, but Bran needed to work through this puzzle for a while before he confronted the boy.

A Slayer and a forcibly turned werewolf both lying about the rogue who attacked him. The rogue wasn't a relation to the Slayer. And although the Slayer was obviously protecting the rogue, she supposedly wasn't willing to go to war over him. But she was willing to use humans as a buffer between herself and the one sent to take care of the rogue. None of the information he had on this Slayer pointed to her having gone rogue herself. She seemed, at times, to be more upstanding than the Watcher's Council that had birthed her.

Then why this aberration in her character?

Bran wandered into his study and began pulling together what he would need to light a fire.

* * *

Behind the wheel of her car, Sage threw a glance over at Oz. "You don't mind if we make a pit-stop, do you Ozzie? I have a hothouse flower that needs some attending."

More or less over both Sage's beauty and her possibly genetic predilection for terms of endearment, Oz shrugged. Everything about Aspen Creek was deeply overwhelming. Oz found himself falling back to his default position of easy-going nonchalance. It helped that Sage talked enough for both of them. Willow could have been this person, could become this person, when she finally became comfor-

Oz slammed the door on those thoughts hard enough that even Sage looked over at him. "You alright there, sweetums?" Her concern and confusion were genuine.

Which prompted Oz to answer her honestly when he said, "Mostly. Just trying to make with the happy thoughts."

Sage hummed in agreement. "Lot of us here in the Marrok's pack have lost our happy place and don't know where to find it." Smiling, she added, "Some of us have even misplaced our marbles, and others are only playing pretend."

"Thank you."

Sage glanced over at him again. "What for, sugar?

"Helping me find a happy place," he said, smiling.

"Oh dear..." Faint color stained her cheeks as she chuckled. Her right hand reached out and squeezed his left affectionately. "I do hope we get to keep you."

* * *

"Hello, hello!" Sage called as they entered the greenhouse.

The scent of so many hothouse flowers, especially the out-of-season roses, was nearly overpowering. Oz sneezed. Then sneezed again.

Sage, standing a little ahead of him, half-turned and laughed. "You alright there, sugar plum?"

"I am. My nose is still in recovery, though."

She laughed again. "First time always packs a whammy. You'll get used to it."

"Not if I say he won't," a melodious masculine voice said as it approached them. "What stray have you brought to my hothouse now, Sage?"

"I promise I've had all my shots," Oz said with a little smile as he watched for the owner of the voice.

The sense of him, or maybe that was the sense of his wolf?, preceded him so that Oz took an involuntary step backwards. Not entirely used to his new instincts, his eyes had fallen naturally to his feet. Now he found it difficult to even raise his head.

"Asil! Play nice!" Sage protested.

"I do not knowing the meaning of these words," Asil said, his musical accent thickening into something distinctly Spanish.

Sage huffed. "I bet you know the meaning in six languages, and half of them are dead."

"...Perhaps. That does not change the fact that I do not know this wolf who has invaded my territory." Oz felt his shoulders curling in on themselves at the touch of growl in Asil's voice. It was…a little disconcerting.

"Well if you'd let me make introductions you would know that this is Oz, or Daniel Osbourne-"

"'Oz'? Like the make believe land from Baum?" Asil asked, voice laced with incredulity.

"Sometimes," Oz said, lips tilting into what might be a smile or a grimace.

Asil ignored him. "But why is he in my hothouse?"

Oz could hear Sage's smile when she said, "I brought him to make you jealous, of course. And I see it worked."

The pressure Oz felt to keep his head bent towards the ground immediately lessened. He doubted he could meet Asil's eyes directly, anymore than he could have Charles', or the Marrok when he was being scary (a strong, Sunnydale-honed, sense of self-preservation kept him from trying even when the Marrok felt like a fellow student), but at least now he could look up comfortably.

"Wow."

Asil, it turned out, was somewhat bigger than the Marrok but smaller than Charles. Then again, Oz didn't know many men who were as big, or bigger, than Charles. He was, however, as beautiful a man as Oz had ever seen in his musically-driven roamings across the country. It was like he'd been formed by the sun itself. Devon would have hated him.

"I feel really..." Brows wrinkled, Oz looked down at his new and still creased clothes, his pale skin and his feet encased in sneakers that could double as lightweight hiking boots. He looked up, eyes going back to Asil and then to Sage. "...really under-attractive. You've never tried to swallow the sun, have you?"

Asil snorted. "Fine. He may stay." He turned and quickly began to walk away. "But I make no promises for tomorrow."

"Am I still welcome?" Sage called out.

Asil made an inarticulate sound that still managed to convey that she was, indeed, welcome.

Throwing a quick glance at Sage, who was grinning, Oz called after the other man, "Thank you." He turned to Sage. "You were right. You do get used to scent."

Eyes closed, Oz took a deep breath and sighed.

Fin[ite]


	9. Lawbreaker

**Title:** Lawbreaker  
 **Character(s):** Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, Sage Carhardt, Oz Osbourne, Bran Cornick, Willow Rosenberg  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Buffy's pretty sure she's in over her head. Not that that's going to stop her or anything.  
 **Length:** ~1610 words  
 **Disclaimer:** Only the words are mine, and that's probably up for philosophical debate.  
 **Notes:** See end (since y'all apparently don't read the notes :p)

* * *

"Giles!" Buffy shouted as she rushed into her Watcher's little condo apartment. "We have a problem!"

The Watcher in question emerged from his library with a cup of tea in one hand and a stack of vinyl disks under his other arm. "Why hello, Buffy. I am doing well. How kind of you to ask," he said with the longsuffering of someone who, although accustomed to the rudeness his children (and yanks in general), still didn't appreciate it.

"Giles, I'm being serious," she said as she began to pace.

Carefully sitting on the sofa, he watched her. "Not something to do with Riley and the Initiative."

Buffy covered her face with her hands. "Don't say anything else! You might jinx us!" After a moment of silence from her Watcher, she sighed and looked up.

"What is it, Buffy?" Giles asked with true concern.

"I may have pissed off the Marrok's enforcer, and probably the Marrok, too."

Giles sat back. "Oh dear. That is rather serious. Dare I ask what has led to this...development."

Buffy dropped into the space next to him and cradled her head in her hands. Then she let her hands fall away and straightened. She took a short, sharp, cleansing breath, let it out, and seemed to gather herself. Settling her hands in her lap, she turned to look at Giles. "They want Jordy."

"Jordy?"

"Oz's little cousin."

"The one who bit him? A-and turned him into werewolf?"

"Yes."

Giles swore.

Buffy popped out of her seat to pace again. "He's just a little boy, Giles."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me." The raised eyebrows Buffy half-turned to give him prompted a rueful smile on his part. "Not, at least, when your protective instincts are at play. If, however, we were discussing your taste in men..."

"Hardy-har-har." Turning to face Giles fully, she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and her arms crossed. "So I figure it'll take Charles a few hours to report to the Marrok, get a decision and a plan together, and then, assuming the decision the Marrok makes is eviscerate-now-ask-questions-later, another day or two to find Jordy and his family."

"That long? I believe Willow's assessment of Charles Cornick was that he is, and I quote, 'scary efficient.'

"I know. I remember." Buffy sighed. "Okay, all of what I said before in twenty-four hours. Possibly less. Very possibly less."

Giles stood and took fortifying a sip of his, mostly cold, tea. "So, we get there first."

"We get there first!"

"Good. We'll take my car." Giles moved towards the kitchen.

"There's only one minor issue."

"What's that? Please tell me there isn't some advantage that Charles Cornick had that you've failed to mention."

"Uh, I kinda don't know where Oz's family lives? On the plus side, they don't know it was Jordy who turned Oz."

* * *

Sage stared out the window of her car and hummed to herself.

"That's not a good sound, in my experience," Oz said over the chatter of a radio commercial. "Especially not when parked in front of-" He stopped himself from saying Big Bad by a hair. "-somewhere, y'know, important."

Sage pointed beyond the windshield to the house itself. "See the smoke coming out of that chimney?"

"Yeah."

"That's from the fireplace in Bran's study."

"How can you tell?" Oz asked mostly to be polite.

"Because he only lights it when there's trouble or there's about to be trouble." She looked at her young companion. "Makes it the kind of thing you learn real fast."

"Yeah."

* * *

"Maybe Aunt Maureen is Oz's aunt on his mother's side?" Buffy said as she skimmed the phonebook without success. The urgency of their situation had her starting the research game without Willow. She was still in class and while Buffy might have tried calling or maybe even texting their info-finding guru, the science building had become notorious for its bad reception, even on the surrounding grounds. So Buffy was hitting the phonebook.

"It's always possible that they're not listed," Giles said snarkily from upstairs.

Buffy groaned. "Not helpful."

"Hmm?"

"Never mind."

* * *

"Is it okay not to knock?" Oz asked as Sage turned the knob on the Marrok's front door.

She smiled down at him. "Wouldn't be open if it wasn't. Come on, honey. Bran's expecting us."

Though her good humor was undiminished, Oz noticed that Sage's energy was more subdued than it had been in the hothouse with Asil.

"Hello," she called as she crossed the threshold "Anyone home?" She grinned at Oz. When there was no answer, she made an elaborate pout. "And here I was hoping you'd get to meet Leah."

"Who's Leah?"

"My wife, and mate," the Marrok said, voice preceding him into the foyer where Oz and Sage stood. "I imagine you'll meet eventually."

Sage smiled broadly although, Oz noted, not directly at the Marrok. "Can I be there?" she asked eagerly.

"Sage..."

She ducked her head, but didn't stop smiling. "I haven't said something wrong, have I?"

With a sigh that could easily be affectation or genuine longsuffering, Bran confirmed that she had not, in fact, said anything wrong. "But you are free to go. I'll call if I need you again."

"Yessir," she said with the same honeyed drawl that she'd used at the end of every conversation they'd had as she had shown Oz around Aspen Creek. Oz was thinking about this so hard, and whether the "sir" had been a sign of werewolf hierarchy or Sage's Southern politeness coming through, that she managed to kiss and hug him almost before he knew what was happening. Then she was walking out the door.

"I think she likes you," the Marrok said with quiet amusement. "Actually I'm sure of it."

Blushing though he was, Oz managed to say, "I hope she's not that friendly with people she didn't like," with a fair amount of equanimity.

"No, not our Sage."

There was a story there, and probably not a happy one if the subject was the giving and receiving of casual affection but Oz didn't ask for details. It was Sage's story to tell, if anyone's, when and to whom she wanted to tell it . He made a mental note to...not treat Sage with kid gloves, because obviously she didn't need it, but remember that she wasn't quite as put together as she looked.

The Marrok was looking at him curiously when Oz realized his silence might have gone on too long. "Kinda hard to believe I thought you were a college student," he said to the area around the Marrok's shoulder.

"Is that so? Something about my face?"

Oz nodded.

"What about it?"

"Knows too much." Oz's lips quirked. "And you aren't telling."

The Marrok laughed, a lovely sound that made Oz want to reach for his music. "Don't think I've ever heard it described quite that way.

"Come on back. We've got a lot to discuss."

* * *

"Ding, ding, ding!" Willow crowed, seated behind her laptop. "I think I've found a winner!"

Buffy grinned. "Woot to the hoot!"

"Yes, good job," Giles said, no less impressed if markedly less effusive than Buffy.

"Okay, Wills, where are they?"

"Not in Sunnydale, actually."

"Huh?" "What?"

"Well, they're not far," Willow quickly reassured both Buffy and Giles. "They're just a few towns over in Scottsrose. You know, in the desert-y direction? "

Buffy's eyebrows went up. "There's a town called Scott's Rose? That sounds a little sexist."

"Maybe Scott just had some really awesome roses? Because, y'know, it's more like one word than two but, uh, basically?"

"Fine. Whatevs." Buffy looked at Giles. "We still taking your car?"

"Unless you've procured an alternative means of transport?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you've been around the rest of us too long, Giles. We've totally rubbed of. Wills, you'll-"

Willow handed her a sheet of paper. "Looking for this?"

Buffy grinned as she saw the driving directions printed on one side and handy dandy map on the other. "You're the best!"

Blushing softly, Willow flapped a hand in Buffy and Giles' direction. "I know, I know. Now get out there and save the grade-schooler!"

Instead of leaving, however, Buffy went to where Willow was sitting and hugged her over the back of the chair. "Thank you. The difficulty factor on this one..."

"Complete ten," Willow agreed as she briefly hugged the arm across her chest. "But no matter what's between me and Oz, and-and it's lots, little Jordy shouldn't suffer just because, y'know, random boinkies and, and people-eating and eviscerations are between me and his cousin."

Buffy patted Willow's shoulder as she pulled out of the hug. "Girls' night in as soon Jordy is safe. Stat!"

Giles jiggled his car keys. "Ladies, if we're quite done here...?"

* * *

Luckily for Charles he hadn't parked too far from the Watcher's house. It would be easy enough to catch up to him and his Slayer, especially with the old Citroen he drove.

Charles knew it was dangerous trailing a predator to her lair with the intent to steal her meat, but he was an old lobo. Far older than even this longest lived slayer. He'd figured he'd manage. Plus he'd had an alibi ready if she'd caught him hanging around. He really wouldn't have minded talking to her more if she had caught him. He had a feeling he could unravel the riddle of her relationship with the rogue with a little more time and attention on his part.

Following her and her Watcher would have to do. And if what his old ears had heard was true, his father would want to know.

Fin[ite]


	10. Hold on Tight

**Title:** Hold on Tight  
 **Character(s):** Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, Oz Osbourne, Bran Cornick  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Buffy and Giles go on a road trip. Bran and Oz soft rock out.  
 **Length:** ~1795 words

* * *

Being silent with the Marrok, Oz decided, was just as unnerving as it had been with Charles. Not because he emanated casually confident violence the way Charles did, but because he didn't and Oz knew he should. Like the way falling snow seemed eerily silent whenever he went up to the mountains - he expected things that fell from the sky to make a sound, but snow never seemed to get the memo.

The day after his first change, Giles had sat him and Buffy down and explained werewolf culture in North America to the best of his ability. (More was known about the wolves of Europe, but the two cultures had become divergent enough since the Marrok had united the wolves of North America that Giles had deemed it not worth the effort of learning about them unless or until Oz decided to go overseas.) Under the Marrok's leadership, the North American wolves had kept a much lower profile than their European kin by aggressively policing their own. "You do not," Giles had said, glasses off, "under any circumstances, want to come to the attention of the Marrok or, worse, his enforcer, Charles Cornick." That was before they had known that Charles was the Marrok's son.

Buffy's eyebrows had gone up at that. "Worse?"

"Yes." Gesturing with his glasses, Giles had said, "There are any variety of reasons why the alpha over every werewolf in North America might be interested in Oz," nodding to him. "Not all of them are negative. The dearth of wolves on the Hellmouth might make you of interest to the Marrok for completely innocent reasons.

"Charles Cornick, however, is the Marrok's enforcer and assassin, among other things." Giles had replaced his glasses. "I very much doubt that you are involved in whatever those 'other things' might be. My dear boy, if Charles Cornick is looking for you, it is unlikely that you will survive the encounter."

Oz had nodded. "Cool. Well...not really, but I understand."

"Very good."

Nearly two years later he'd been hunted and found by Charles Cornick, then ridden for most of the day with him from the outskirts of LA to the outskirts of Aspen Creek. The first few hours had been spent in a quiet kind of terror – until he realized the equally quiet protection that Charles had been giving him. They stopped far more often than Oz would have expected: to eat, to refuel, to stretch their legs, and even overnight to sleep. Charles was as emotive as an Easter Island statue, but Oz felt his unspoken care. A few hours outside of where they would eventually pick up the Marrok on the road, Oz felt himself drifting off to sleep in Charles' rental for the first time.

Then they'd picked up the Marrok disguised (to Oz) as a hitch-hiking college student. Except for one brief moment, it was the knowledge of the Marrok's power, not the sense of it, that hadn't allow Oz to be as relaxed in his presence as he had become in Charles'. It wasn't a bad fear to have, not of the most dominant werewolf in three sovereign nations, but it was...it was... Oz wasn't sure what it was.

He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd felt it then and he felt it now.

* * *

"Buffy..."

"Yeah, Giles?"

"I do believe there's a car following us."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Fairly, but do check for yourself. It's good practice."

"Gi-iles."

"Surveillance is not a bad skill for a Slayer to have."

"Fine."

Giles' hand shot out before Buffy could turn in her seat. "A little subtlety, please."

"I am! I'm reaching into the backseat."

"And flashing everyone on the freeway?"

"Giles, this outfit is totally regulation."

"For gradeschoolers, perhaps. I thought babydoll had gone out of fashion."

"It is. And even though I'm kinda proud that you know that…"

"Yes, well..."

"…the miniskirt is never going out of style." Buffy leaned between the seats instead of actually turning around, grumbling about Cordelia wearing shorter skirts, as she rummaged around in her purse for anything that might make for good cover as she scoped out the traffic behind them. She came back with a banana and a chirpy, "Let's make with the bobbing and weaving. But, y'know, less obvious."

* * *

"Henh."

The Marrok raised his eyebrows as he turned and sat in his chair. "Henh?" he repeated as he gestured for Oz to take a seat on the other side of the fireplace.

Lowering himself slowly, Oz said, "There's a fire."

"So there is." Amusement colored the Marrok's voice but there was calculation in his eyes.

"Sage said you only light a fire in your study when there's trouble."

"I'd marvel at her observance, but I doubt it's a secret by now."

Oz didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything at all. Except, "Is it me? Because I killed Veruca?"

"What if I said it was?"

"It's nice to know that the prospect of having to kill someone you just met causes so much moral consternation?"

The Marrok laughed. "Actually, it would have been easier to have Charles kill you on the road, before I got to know you—"

"Figures."

"—but that's not why I've lit the fire."

"Um, yay?"

"We'll see." The Marrok turned in his chair, reaching behind it for something. He pulled out an acoustic guitar. "You said you play."

"I did?"

Instead of answering, the Marrok stood and brought Oz the guitar. "Do you know 'Livin' on a Prayer'?"

Oz frowned, taking the guitar. "Acoustic? Yeah. Maybe."

* * *

Frowning, Buffy checked the mirrors. "I think our tail has peeled off," she told Giles.

"Are you quite sure?"

"If our tail was that sand colored SUV, then yeah." Buffy glanced at Giles. "Think maybe it was just somebody going our way?"

"Anything's possible, but not everything is likely," Giles said, returning Buffy's glance through the rearview mirror.

Buffy shrugged. "What now? Evasive maneuvers?"

"Not a bad idea." Snorting a laugh, Giles said, "Perhaps I should let you drive, then?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Good heavens, no!"

"Spoilsport." She sank into her seat. "Oh hey…" Buffy popped back up in her seat. "Take a left at the next corner. Then it's two lights and a right."

* * *

An acoustic "Livin' on a Prayer" went better than Oz had expected, helped in no small part by the Marrok's rich voice. Which had segued into "Live and Let Die" and, somehow, a version of "Sweet Child o' Mine" more like Sheryl Crow than Axl Rose. The shadows had made significant progress across the floor, and several people had come in and out of the house in the time they had been...

'Playing' sound corny. Rehearsing?

"Bonding," Oz said.

"Or something like that," Bran agreed.

Whoever it was that had come in and stopped in the threshold of the study walked away without ever speaking. Oz felt their presence go but only knew for sure that it wasn't one of the three wolves he now knew relatively well.

Bran stood up and crossed the room. A cupboard turned out to be a hidden refrigerator, from which he pulled out two bottles of water. Oz set down the guitar, ready to catch his bottle. Instead, Bran brought it back and handed it to him. He waited until Oz had cracked the seal and taken a long drink before asking, "Good?"

Oz sensed the several question, and nodded. "Yes." Yes, the water was good. Yes, their session was good. Yes, the bonding was good. Yes, he was good.

"Very good."

Smiling a little, Bran cracked the seal on his own bottle and settled in his chair. "I've been thinking about you, Oz. I have no intention of causing you harm. For a young, untrained wolf, you have a surprising amount of control. I suppose your slayer would have taken care of you long ago otherwise. You certainly wouldn't have made it as far as Aspen Creek if you didn't. Don't think I didn't notice the way you tried to stand for me with Charles when you thought I was a hitch-hiking kid.

"Thank you?"

"Which makes your reluctance to give up the rogue confusing."

Oz blinked as he slowly switched out the bottle in his hand for the guitar. "You mean Veruca? I kind of tore her throat out. And then we burned her to ash and spread the ashes in the wind. There's nothing to give up."

"I mean the rogue that turned you."

Oz's languid calm began to evaporate.

Bran took a pull from his water bottle. "The interesting thing is that the Slayer refuses to give him up as well. At first I thought it was because she has a personal connection to him: father, brother, lover, best friend. But Charles has been able to uncover all of those. Which left me with an unhappy puzzle. One I've been working though since I left you in the secure room."

"Oh?" Part of Oz rejoiced – not only had Buffy not given up Jordy (that was never in question, really) but she knew that he was danger. She would protect him.

But could he, Oz, do the same?

* * *

Giles pulled up across the street from the house address on Willlow's printout.

Buffy swore. Profusely.

"What is it?"

"Our tail beat us here."

* * *

"Then it occurred to me," the Marrok said. "Perhaps I have the wrong family member. Maybe it's not the Slayer with close ties to the rogue.

"Tell me, Oz, who is the rogue to you?"

Fin[ite]


	11. Tell Me (That It's Alright)

**Title:** Tell Me (That It's Alright)  
 **Character(s):** Charles Cornick, Buffy Summers, Oz Osbourne, Bran Cornick  
 **Rating:** FR-15/PG-13  
 **Summary:** The road might end here...for everyone.  
 **Length:** ~1,930 words  
 **Disclaimer:** Only the words are mine, and that's probably up for philosophical debate.  
 **Notes:** This chapter was originally posted to the August 2016 TwistedShorts FAD as story 11, but it fit too neatly with the original story 10 for me to let it hang out on its own.

* * *

Buffy and Giles eyed the car that they were sure had been tailing them since Sunnydale, now sitting outside Jordan McIntyre's home in Scottsrose Township.

"There's always a chance that this is coincidence," Giles said, eyes fixed on the sand colored SUV.

"Uh huh." Buffy was watching it, too. "The real question is how did he beat us here and do you think he's already inside."

"He?"

Buffy turned away from the rental (license plated to West Virginia). "C'mon, Giles. Tell me you don't think this is anyone but Charles Cornick."

"I'm attempting optimism?" he said, eyes meeting Buffy's. Who snorted. Before she could respond, however, alarm burst on Giles' face. "Buffy-"

She was already out the door of the old Citroen.

* * *

"Tell me, Oz," the Marrok said, "who is the rogue to you?"

No one.  
It doesn't matter.  
None of your business.  
Leave my cousin alone.  
Nothing to you.  
He's just a little kid.  
I don't care.  
I'll take his place

The pleas and denials crowded through Oz's head too quickly to choose which he would actually say to the Marrok. He didn't realize he was plucking at the guitar in his lap until the Marrok's hand was laid over his.

"Who is it?"

"You can't have him." Oz's whispered words belied the intensity of emotion behind them. As if saying them had unlocked one of Willow's spells, his senses were gone wild the moment the words were off his lips. He could now smell the wolf that had lingered in the doorway while he and the Marrok had been jamming. His skin prickled with faint movement of the central heating system. He could taste his own fear and anger. (Laced together, they were disgusting. He knew that now.) The Marrok's heartbeat was a steady counterpoint to the double-time staccato in Oz's chest.

"Who is the rogue to you, Oz?"

"You can't have him."

"Father? Brother? Lover? Best friend?"

None of the Marrok's pauses yielded an answer from Oz, because all of his options were all wrong. Even if they weren't, even if Jordy wasn't family, he was a little kid. A child. But that didn't seem to matter to the Marrok. He kept offering personal relationships as if they were the only reasons to save someone. Jordy could have been some kid on campus who happened to scratch Oz at the wrong time of the month. He hadn't done anything wrong. Oz wouldn't give him up.

"It doesn't matter who he is. You can't have him." He said it to the space behind the Marrok's shoulder, unable to look him in the eye as much from instinct as leashed rage. Close as they were with the Marrok's hand still over Oz's twitchy fingers, his scent even drowned out the mixed anger and fear until all that was left was the minty musk of werewolf and the sharp sweetness Oz had only scented on the Marrok.

"You can't have him."

* * *

Charles heard the car thrown open as Brother Wolf bristled. They both knew who it was, who they'd been tracking from her territory. Still, it was years of fighting that saved him from her flying leap over the hood of his rental SUV. Instead of bearing him down to the ground, where she would have the advantage, he turned her momentum into a throw.

She landed near the McIntyre window hedges in a crouch. But like a swimmer turning a lap, she used her landing to propel herself forward. Most creatures needed to pick up momentum before they could do serious damage. Charles knew better. He'd seen several slayers in action. This one might not be like any of those on surface, but they were all hunters, all killers. In that way, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was no different from her Sisters.

Two steps to get her footing together turned into a handspring, into a flying kick. Age gave Charles an advantage she didn't anticipate. He neatly side-stepped her kick, punching her in the gut instead. It wasn't as effective as a punch to the solar plexus would have been, but she still dropped to her knees, gasping for air.

Charles had her wrapped in his arms and off the ground before she could regroup. He underestimated this Slayer's ability to recover, however. She head-butted him with a surprisingly hard skull. Stars burst behind his eyes and Charles dropped her reflexively.

He heard her roll across the grass, her breathing harsh as she tried to get her lungs back together and, he hoped, recover from his equally thick skull.

She was up in a fighting stance when he opened his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

He bristled and Brother Wolf laughed.

"More," she tacked on. "Just go back to the Marrok and leave this to me."

"The Marrok is Alpha over all the wolves," came rumbling out of his chest. Brother Wolf might have found the little Slayer amusing, but she had tried to lay claim to what belonged to him and his father. Brother Wolf did not forget.

"Not this one. This one is under my protection." She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. "He's mine."

Charles heard a distant, "Oh Buffy" as a snarl rolled up through his body. "We handle our own," he said.

"Not this one," she snapped again. "I'm not letting you hurt him."

"He's a child, Mr. Cornick," that other voice said. Watcher, his own mind supplied as Brother Wolf was very much occupied with keeping an eye the Slayer. Who was trying to sneak around him.

Charles turned to look at her. He gave her a wry look and she returned with a plastic smile to do a cheerleader proud. "Can't blame a slayer for trying."

"I could," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Look, Grumpylicious. This isn't about you or me, it's about a little boy whose only crime is being a little boy."

"That's up for the Marrok to decide."

This time, she was the one growling.

* * *

"What if I don't want him?"

Oz's eyes snapped to the Marrok's, the words were so startling. At the same time, the other pulled his hand away and sat back, making it impossible for their eyes to really connect.

"I-I..." Oz's throat was tight like the moment before crying, but he was pretty sure tears were not what were trying to come out of him. "I know...what happens..." He swallowed and tried again. "Werewolves aggressively police their own."

The Marrok nodded slowly. "I do." Then: "You're about to change, Oz. Can't you feel it? Tell me why."

The pedagogical tone made Oz want throw the guitar across the room and try for the Marrok's throat. He probably wouldn't make it, but he was pretty sure the attempt would be just as satisfying as chasing a diminished ninth on his bass.

Oz reared back.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked.

"Proving myself right by poking at a sore spot," the Marrok said. He reached for the water bottle abandoned on the floor next to his leg. "I guess Sam's right. Mercy does get it from me."

Busy trying to reign in his wild emotions, Oz ignored the non-sequitur. After a moment he was more aware of himself. The sense of the other wolves in the home was more of an awareness than a surety, and his skin didn't goose pimple every time one of them exhaled.

"So. Who is he?" the Marrok asked the moment Oz was more or less himself again. "As you said, werewolves police themselves aggressively. Since uniting all the packs in North America, I have been especially stringent. It's the only way to keep our secret." Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he laced his fingers together over his lap. "And it's the only way we're going to survive when we're eventually outed."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"This way of life? Hiding in the shadows? It's not going to work for the supernatural community forever. The lights of the modern world get brighter every day." The Marrok cocked his head to one side. "How did you meet the Slayer. Did she spare you while you were still trying to control the wolf?"

Oz felt himself trying to smile, but his world was tilting on its all its axes, and seeming to find new ones to turn on every time the Marrok opened his mouth. He couldn't make the smile stick, so he stopped trying. "I protected her and her best friend from assassins. Then I was her best friend's date at her birthday party when she staked a vampire. They let me in."

Somewhere a clock was ticking. The other wolves in the house had left. Oz shuddered. The guitar sang in discordant sympathy under his fingertips.

"Tell me who he is, Oz."

* * *

The Slayer abandoned stealth and ran for Charles again. But instead of going high, she swept his feet from under him in a simple maneuver that would have been embarrassing if not for the force she put behind it. Her Watcher would have cracked his head open.

Charles went down and popped up, reflexively. And she was right there.

Her open hand on his solar plexus wasn't as painful as a fist, but it still pushed him backwards as it knocked the air out of his lungs. She followed with a punch to his kidneys and a foot to his knee.

Charles went down. And clipped her jaw when she got close.

The Slayer stumbled backwards but didn't quite lose her feet. It was enough for Charles to get back up. The knee wasn't dislocated, and his kidneys were bruised but he'd felt worse.

It occurred to him that she wasn't trying to take him out, but he was pissed enough that it almost didn't matter.

* * *

"He's a kid I was babysitting."

The Marrok's eyes narrowed. "You're not telling me the truth, Oz. I don't like lies."

"I haven't lied." He hadn't.

"You haven't told me the whole truth, either."

"He's…" Oz shook his head. "It doesn't matter who he is to me. I told you the truth. You're not looking for a rogue, you're looking for a seven or eight year old little boy who bit me by accident while I was babysitting." Oz dared to look up, dared to look the Marrok in the eye even if only for a moment. "That's the only truth that matters."

The Marrok's head canted slowly to one side and Oz found his eyes dropping away on his own. If he had fur, though…if he had fur it would still be bristled.

"What's his name?"

"Jordy. Jordan McIntyre."

"Where—"

"Why is this important?"

"I've sent Charles."

Oz jumped up. "No!"

"I trust his judgement. If he says Jordy McIntyre isn't a threat, then we'll add it to the always growing list of reasons why we don't allow packs to settle on or near Hellmouths. Now sit down."

But Oz didn't sit down. "And if he is? If Jordy is a threat."

"Then Charles will deal with him."

"How can you—"

"Please tell me you were planning on asking me how I could allow an uncontrolled juvenile werewolf loose in a civilian population? Especially one that's already turned one unsuspecting person into a werewolf—from a bite."

Oz snarled. The Marrok's face was stone.

Oz stormed out of the house. He was yards away, standing on a stranger's front lawn, when he realized he was still holding the guitar.

He sat down on the curb.

* * *

Charles' phone rang.

Fin[ite]


	12. Travel Light

**Title:** Travel Light  
 **Character(s):** Oz Osbourne, Leah Cornick  
 **Rating:** K+/PG  
 **Summary:** Deeply off-balanced by a conversation with Bran Cornick, the Marrok, Oz goes in search of wisdom. It finds him instead.  
 **Length:** ~755 words  
 **Dedication:** EVERYONE AT THE TWISTEDSHORTS FAD! You guys are totally rad!  
 **Notes:** This is the last story originally written for the 2016 August FAD on the TwistedShorts livejournal.

* * *

A woman sat next to Oz on the mystery house's curb about an arms-length away. He turned to look at her. She looked at him.

"Sorry for sitting on your lawn," he said after the silence had gone too long.

Her laughter was a deep throaty sound that would have hooked Devon or Xander in an instant, but had always sounded too practiced to interest Oz. Her smile was wry, a little chagrined maybe, and that lent some realism to the laugh.

"You're angry because Bran got you to talk."

He didn't answer her. He didn't need to: "He has a talent for getting people to do what they don't want, or more than they meant to do. Don't feel too bad about it."

"I betrayed someone."

She scoffed. "Is that all? I guess it's your first time." She looked him up and down, so Oz took the opportunity to study her in return. Dark blond hair long enough to create the braided crown she was wearing. (Something within him wanted to take it down and chase it.) A smooth, clear complexion put her age helpfully between 24 and 34. Her trim figure was softened by in a trendy track suit. From the way her head topped his even while sitting, Oz put her height at about woman-average.

And she was tense. Oz filed that away for later. A breeze had kicked up strong enough to flutter his loose shirt for a moment. He could smell her.

"You were at the house. You were the one who stood in the door. You were listening to us."

She scoffed again. "Obviously."

"Maybe you hate 80s hair bands, and only suffered through our set because you really needed to talk to the Marrok."

She stared at him for a heartbeat. Then she threw her head back and laughed. When she looked at him again, she was still smiling. It quickly faded into a smirk. "Suffering while waiting for the Marrok. How quaint.

"Don't tell him this, not that you need to, but Bran has a beautiful voice." She snorted. "I think he has actually sung birds out of the sky. You play against him pretty well, for a child."

Oz frowned. "Thank you?"

"You have an eternity to improve." The way she said it, it didn't sound like something to look forward to.

Silence stretched between them. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't companionable, either. Before Oz could ask her why she was still sitting there she said, "If it makes you feel better, hurting a submissive hurts Bran, too."

"Huh?"

"A submissive wolf. You. How new are you that you don't know you're submissive."

Oz's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"

"When I threw my head back and laughed, what were you thinking?"

"That it wasn't all that funny," Oz readily admitted.

"Anything else?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"And does it bother you that you can't look most wolves in the eye?"

"A little."

That seemed to surprise her for a second, but she regrouped quickly. "Why?"

Oz shrugged. "Another sign I'm not human, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"It's annoying having one instinct always fighting the other one."

"But you haven't felt the need to challenge anyone because of it."

"Should I?"

"Only if you were a dominant wolf. Bran's first instinct, every dominant wolf's instinct, is to keep a submissive wolf safe."

Silence fell between them again as Oz digested her words. He began to pick at the guitar strings. Eventually he said, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not as old as some, but I'm old enough. I remember what it's like to be young and weak and powerless and scared. And I remember doing whatever I thought I had to so I would never be that person anymore.

"My instincts are screaming at me to help you."

"Even from the Marrok?"

"You know someone who's more dangerous to you?" He did, but it didn't seem important.

She stood up and dusted off the seat of her otherwise pristine velvet bottoms. Turning to him, she said, "You haven't betrayed yourself yet."

"I think maybe I did."

With her hip cocked and arms crossed over her chest, she looked disturbingly like Buffy ready for a fight. "Trust me. You have a long way to go, kid."

She was walking towards a dark colored luxury car Oz hadn't noticed before he could respond.

Then she was gone.

Oz stood with the guitar in hand. He began to play, walking without direction. He had a lot to think about.

Fin[ite]


	13. Be Not Weary

**Title:** Be Not Weary  
 **Character(s):** Oz Osbourne, Asil Moreno, Charles Cornick, Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles, Jordy's family  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Oz, still reeling from his confession to the Marrok, seeks solace in his music while Buffy and Charles work out their...differences.  
 **Length:** ~2990 words  
 **Notes:** This is the first of the stories written _after_ the August 2016 TwistedShorts FAD, so it's not had even a vague beta reading. You are all my first readers :) Please fell free to point out any issues (as if y'all haven't already).

* * *

It had been hours since Oz had fled the Marrok's house; hours since he'd given up his little cousin Jordy as the wolf who had turned him; hours since he'd had a less than satisfying chat with the female wolf about the state of his self-respect. It had the makings of a great album; all the ingredients of an hour of introspection and self-discovery were there, but Oz could barely get his fingers to settle on the most basic of Dingoes songs. Sometimes he'd stop walking and try to tease out the melody, even humming a bar or two to jumpstart his memory, but it always ended with more frustration than success. Twice, he sat on random lawns until the sense of others-wolf and regular human, both-disturbed the fragile membrane of calm he was building, note by note.

Dark was coming on quickly, especially in this mountainous, woody community. Oz's Sunnydale instincts were telling him to get inside, but it was easy enough to ignore them. He'd spent years more or less ignoring them to gig with the Dingoes. And, of course, he was one of the bump-in-the-nights.

In spite of being in a community of werewolves, far from the Hellmouth, Oz was unsettled enough to not feel comfortable in the deepening twilight. It was somewhat relieving to find himself outside Asil's hothouse. It was familiar if nothing else. Sage suddenly driving up would have been better, but Oz knew how to make-do. Really, he just needed to get his head on straight.

Oz found himself chuckling as he slid to a rest beside the greenhouse doors, the warmth from within leaking in tendrils that tickled the edge of his senses. He'd left Willow and Sunnydale to get his head on straight. Now here he was, doing it again not even a month later. He wasn't even sure he'd gotten the first issue worked out.

With the hothouse's warmth curling like soothing fingers at his side, the strong scent of growing things and Asil in his nose, hard packed earth beneath and sturdy wall behind him, Oz finally felt himself relax. His fingers began to move with more purpose. The melody line had been tricking him into thinking it was an old Dingoes track. Now it slowly unmasked itself. It was in him—if he didn't think about it too much. He began to sway to the tune, keeping time as much with his body as the foot taping against a flagstone. He didn't know if this song had words. Devon had written a lot of their lyrics, but Oz didn't feel the need. Not yet anyway. He could feel the notes pass through the body of the acoustic, through his flesh and into his bones. His blood flowed on the notes. His head was full to bursting with them so that he was a little lightheaded, a little drunk. His fingers played the notes and produced the sound, but he was also far away from his body, experiencing it. Willow, his slipping humanity, his fractured loyalties, werewolf politics, fear, confusion were all fuzzy colors beyond his reach as he sank deeper into the sound pouring out from within, and yet they were its meat and bones.

Oz played on.

* * *

Buffy eyed Charles from across the McIntyre's den. He was eyeing her back, so she didn't feel too bad about it. Even when Giles cleared his throat. Several times.

Mr. McIntyre, Jordan R. McIntyre "Sr.", returned from the kitchen with a tray. He'd been nothing but kind and, annoyingly to Buffy, deferential since stepping into their fight earlier.

She and Charles had been eyeing each other from the figurative corners they'd backed each other into, both of them trying to figure out their next move. Buffy had actively been trying not to hurt the big man-wolf-dude, because she really didn't want to get into it with every werewolf packs of North America, thanks. He hadn't been making it easy, though. There wasn't supposed to have been a fight in the first place, but not only had Charles followed them from Sunnydale, he'd gotten to the McIntyre's place first.

What was supposed to have happened was the McIntyres were supposed to have scooted, Buffy and Giles were gonna occupy, and then when Charles eventually showed up (because Charles Cornick not finding what he was looking for was never a thing) they were gonna talk some sense into him. While Jordy and his parents ran.

Only, like, one-sixth of the plan had actually worked.

To say that seeing Mr. McIntyre pop out the front door and rush between her and Charles was shocking, was to forget the way Buffy's heart had jumped into her throat. And then the stupid man-wolf-dad person had dropped to his knees in front of Charles, neck bared. "This is my fault. Spare them. Please."

Buffy had recovered quickly. She'd started forward, a plan of attack that included leaping over noble-idiot fathers more than half executed in her head. Then Charles' phone had rung. Because what's tension without a knife?

"Yes?"

It had been the Marrok. And since everyone onstage except Giles was of the super variety, both she and Mr. McIntyre had been able to hear both sides of the conversation – especially the part where the Marrok had said "Oz confirmed that his attacker was a child."

Buffy's eyes had narrowed. "What do you mean 'confirmed'?"

But before she could act on her impulse to snatch the phone away and give the Marrok a piece of her mind or, better, beat Charles with it, Mr. McIntyre had been standing in front of her. He'd had his hands outstretched between them as if to stop her – which, looking back on it, had been the exact point. "Let's give them some privacy. Please?"

"Give them some privacy? Charles is here to take out Jordy!"

"Not necessarily." Mr. McIntyre might have been Oz's uncle by marriage, but they definitely shared a copacetic family resemblance. In the moment it had been more maddening than relaxing.

"Don't you understand what happened here? Charles followed us— No, first he eavesdropped on us, then he followed us, with the intention of getting Jordy. Your kid!"

"But Jordy and Maureen are safe for the moment. No one knows where they are, including me. If the Marrok wants to talk about this, I'm willing to hear him out."

"Do you have a choice?"

"Buffy!" That had come from Giles. But after the way Mr. McIntyre had kowtowed to Charles, Buffy hadn't been ready or willing to apologize. They'd been in the house for over an hour and she still wasn't sure.

They were waiting for Mrs. McIntyre to come back with Jordy.

Eventually Giles had convinced Buffy to give Charles and the Marrok privacy, if only because they didn't understand werewolf politics as well as they could. If there was any chance that the Marrok would show mercy, Buffy was willing to take it, even if it meant clenching her jaw until her bones creaked.

"Buffy," Giles said, touching the hand nearest him. "Staring a werewolf in the eye, North American or otherwise, is akin to making a challenge."

"Is it? Good."

Mr. McIntyre stepped in front of Buffy, breaking her line of site. "Water? Diet? Sparkling?"

Buffy frowned. Mr. McIntyre smiled. "You can't stand there forever," she told him.

"You can't order me around, Slayer."

"I'm not making with the ordering."

"Your body language is absolutely giving orders," he said as his smile turned indulgent. "Water? Diet? Sparkling?"

Buffy grumbled her request and, correctly, got a can of diet Coke.

Far more amenable than his slayer, Giles took a of bottle water from the tray Mr. McIntyre was holding. "Please try not to antagonize the nice werewolves," he said conversationally. There was no point in whispering.

"Ha." Buffy pulled the tab on her soda can and watched with quiet intent as Mr. McIntyre crossed the den to offer liquid goodness to Charles as well. Charles who could order Mr. McIntyre around.

Buffy felt her insides roil. Apparently the news that Jordy, aka the rogue wolf who had turned Oz, was only a little kid was enough to switch Charles' setting from Enforcer to Investigator mode. The question was, what would it take to switch back? And would Buffy be close enough to protect him?

Mr. McIntyre's back shifted as his tray was relieved of another beverage. When he moved, Charles was looking at her.

Buffy smiled and waved. He drank from his bottle of water, but didn't wave back.

* * *

"What are you doing here, pup?" Asil asked, coming to stand in front of Oz. "Other than playing your guitar?" he added before Oz could say it.

"Not my guitar. It's the Marrok's."

"Ah, well, pardon my mistake. What are you doing outside my hothouse playing the Marrok's guitar, then?"

"I don't know." The words surprised Oz. He'd meant to tell the other wolf that he was thinking, which wasn't a lie but... Oz's fingers stopped for the first time in over an hour. He shivered.

Making a sound of annoyance and muttering in a language Oz didn't know, Asil stepped forward with keys suddenly in his hand. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. When Oz didn't immediate follow, Asil stuck his head outside the door. "Come, little pup. You are not prepared to spend an evening out of doors."

Oz handed him the guitar when he reached for it, then accepted Asil's other hand when it was offered. Moments later he was following Asil deeper into the hothouse than he'd been earlier in the day when he'd visited with Sage. The muggy warmth was unexpectedly welcome. Oz didn't know he'd become so cold. He'd stopped noticing things like that long ago.

A sink and counter covered in garden tools solidified out of the gloom as Asil flicked on a light

"Sit," Asil said. Oz glanced around and noticed the wrought iron garden chairs around a small glass table. He sat.

Asil set down the guitar, then busied himself at the sink. Soon there was a click and a familiar burbling hiss that Oz always associated with Giles. Asil turned from the electric teapot. "Stay here," he said. He briefly rested his hands on Oz's nape as he passed beyond the ragged circle of light, into the hothouse proper.

The electric tea kettle had begun to scream when Asil returned. In his hand was a small cloth sack that smelled of fresh lavender. He took the kettle off its power source and began preparing a pot of tea. Oz watched intently as he brought first two cups and their saucers to the table, then the small cloth sack, then the teapot on a small towel.

He sat opposite Oz. "Tell me what has happened."

Oz hesitated at first, but found the story pouring out of him: being found by Charles, meeting the Marrok on the road, both dominants pressing him to talk about the "rogue" who had changed him...the "rogue" being his little cousin, and eventually giving Jordy up to the Marrok after he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't. He didn't mention the female wolf. That encounter was like this one with Asil.

"Do not beat yourself up so much, little wolf," Asil said. "You've done no wrong."

He'd been silent as Oz spoke, only moving when it was, apparently, time to pour the tea. From the sack he had produced the lavender Oz had smelled, which he added to the already fragrant cups. Oz had held his as he spoke. The warmth and floral scent had helped ease the distress that grew as he relived the last 48 hours. Now Oz tried hard not to meet the other wolf's stare. Instead he stared at the pattern the lavender made as he said, "Someone else said the same thing to me. A female I didn't meet when I was with Sage."

At Asil's prompting, Oz described her. The other wolf made a sound of disbelief. "You must be a submissive. I don't know that Leah would have been so kind otherwise."

"It didn't feel kind."

Asil chuckled. "I'm not surprised. But, though it pains me to admit, Leah is right."

"Jordy is a little kid."

"'A little kid' whom you say turned you into a werewolf with a bite."

"An accidental bite. Jordy's not usually a biter."

Asil set down his teacup and studied Oz for a long while. Instead of struggling to watch or not watch the other wolf in return, Oz turned his attention back to his tea. It wasn't as sweet as what he might have made on his own but it tasted as nice as it smelled. He felt calmer, too. Whether because he'd finally shared his burden or the tea or Asil, he couldn't guess.

Oz finished. "Wonder what it says."

Asil reached for the teapot. "My wife could have interpreted the leaves for you," he said as he poured Oz a fresh cup.

"Sorry for your loss."

Asil's lips lifted, but it wasn't a happy expression. "You assume she is gone from this world."

"I guess she could have left you for a more beautiful wolf," Oz said, daring to make a passing go at eye contact as he lifted his cup to his mouth.

Making a sound of disbelief, Asil topped off his own cup. "A wolf with a better temperament, that I would believe, but more beautiful? Señor, there is none more beautiful."

Oz smiled into his tea.

"But for you, pup, I do not think you know how our kind are made."

"Not...biting?"

"Near evisceration. "

* * *

"Dad!" Jordy McIntyre ran headlong for his father, who easily scooped up the boy. "Guess what we saw!"

"What'd my big boy see?"

And for a solid five minutes Jordy filed his father in on what he and his mother had seen on their drive to...wherever she'd gone. It was all Buffy could do not to snatch the boy right out of his father's arms and run. For the moment, though, all she could manage was a serious glare in Charles Cornick's direction.

Charles, fortunately or un, had stopped returning dirty looks the moment they could hear the McIntyre car in the drive. Now he watched Jordy with his father. Mrs. McIntyre was conspicuously absent. Buffy couldn't say that she blamed her.

"Hey, kiddo, you wanna slow down so I can introduce you to some people."

"We got guests?"

"Have guests," Mr. McIntyre corrected. "And, yes, we do." Still holding Jordy, Mr. McIntyre introduced him to Buffy and Giles first. "These are friends of your cousin Oz."

"Really?" He scrambled out of his father's arms. "My name is Jordan M. McIntyre," he said, hand outstretched to Giles.

"A pleasure, young man."

When Buffy stretched out her hand, Jordy took it in both of his and kissed her knuckles. Giggling and glancing at Mr. McIntyre, Buffy asked him where he'd learned that.

"Cousin Oz!" He said immediately and loudly. "Did I do it right?"

"Tres classy!"

Jordy chortled with joy.

Mr. McIntyre dropped a hand in his son's head. "One more, kiddo." Turning them both, he said, "This is Mr. Charles Cornick."

As he had with his father, Jordy ran for Charles but this time Buffy's heart was in her throat. She was halfway out of her seat when Jordy clambered into Charles' lap. "It's okay," Mr. McIntyre said.

"But-"

"Trust me, please."

Watching as Jordy whispered into Charles' ear, Buffy lowered herself into her seat. It was Giles, however, who said, "We do not believe this is wise, Mr. McIntyre."

"I know."

Jordy, meanwhile, pulled back from whatever he'd been telling Charles. The big man nodded solemnly in response. "Yes. I am."

Grinning, Jordy sat back in the circle of Charles' arms and turned to his father. "Daddy, he's like us!"

"I know."

"Jordy," came from the kitchen. "Come get your snack."

"Coming Mom!" Jordy scrambled out of Charles' arms, easily released by the other man.

Mr. McIntyre ruffled his son's hair as he passed. "The voice of my lovely wife, Maureen, has magical properties." It was said with laughing fondness, but no one laughed.

"And that's my son, Jordy."

* * *

Asil warmed his hands on his cup. "Little pup, imagine what Bran, the Marrok, faces. Your cousin, a mere child, is able to make werewolves from a simple bite."

"He broke the skin," Oz felt compelled to clarify.

Asil waved the detail away. "Your young cousin makes werewolves with a bite, when werewolves are generally created from the near murder by another werewolf and an equally vicious determination to live.

"You of course don't know the lengths to which Bran has gone to control the process and protect those who choose to become one of us. That's how terrible it is. And your cousin can do this with a bite. A child."

Oz clenched his hands around his teacup. It would have gone rattling out of his hands otherwise.

"So he's dead," Oz said to the still floating lavender.

"No. Werewolf justice is brutal because werewolves are brutal. But it is not wanton. Not since Bran unified the packs under his rule. If what happened with your Jordy was, as you say, an accident then it is doubtful Bran will have him killed. As difficult as it is for you to believe, having to execute justice against your cousin would hurt Bran deeply."

"But he'd have to do something, even if he doesn't think Jordy's dangerous," Oz reasoned.

Asil shrugged. "Perhaps Bran will have your cousin watched until he reaches maturity. Perhaps tutored." He spread his hands. "Who can say. There are no wolves as young as your cousin. It is likely he is writing the rules as he goes along."

Fin[ite]


	14. Expect Delays

**Title:** Expect Delays  
 **Character(s):** Oz Osbourne, Asil Moreno, Sage Carhardt  
 **Rating:** FR13/PG  
 **Summary:** Sage invites herself into Oz and Asil's conversation, and someone finally gets around to explaining what it means to be a submissive wolf.  
 **Length:** ~2,485 words  
 **Notes:** Once again, this has been read by _no one_ but me. Incessantly. Please feel free to spot beta, just let me know what I missed and where I missed it.

* * *

"Is this a private party-"

Oz, who had been lost in thought, started at the feminine voice behind him.

"-or can anyone join in?" Sage stepped into the pool of light surrounding Oz and Asil sitting at the little glass-covered decorative table at the rear of Asil's hothouse. The air was thick with growing things, steaming tea and Oz's burdened heart.

Asil stood for Sage. "Take my seat."

The smile Sage gave Asil lit her face, enhancing her already considerable beauty. "Thank you."

Asil waved her thanks away as he took up the teapot from the center of the table. "Oh, is that what smells so lovely?"

Oz nodded.

"You are gonna make some more, Asil honey, aren't you?"

The other wolf grunted, but soon water was running in the sink, then into the electric teakettle. The unmistakable click and hiss of the kettle turning on tipped Oz's lips upward and renewed Sage's glittering smile.

When Asil didn't turn to face them, Sage turned her, somewhat dimmed, attention to Oz. "You are the talk of the town."

"Because I ran from the Marrok's house?" Oz asked, fingers fidgeting on his cup.

"That, too." When he didn't take the bait, she sighed dramatically. "Your music, Ozzie. You've got half of everyone wondering who the new musician is."

"Didn't mean to be so loud," he mumbled.

"We're a town full of werewolves, Oz honey. There wasn't much you could have done about it. 'Sides, the other half are musicians or dancers themselves. It's a wonder we didn't have a spontaneous big musical number." She frowned when his mood didn't seem to lighten at the image her words were attempting to conjure. Oz tried. He didn't want her to worry about him, but...

"Ozzie, what's wrong? Asil," she said with real concern in her voice, "what's wrong with our Ozzie? What have you two been talking about in here?"

"The pup doesn't have to tell you his heart if he does not desire to do so. Not if it doesn't affect the pack."

Oz was pretty sure that last bit was said for his benefit.

"The wellbeing of each packmember effects the pack as a whole," Sage countered with what sounded like a canned response, an elegant eyebrow curved toward her hairline.

"That doesn't look as good when I do it," Oz said, as Asil said over his shoulder, "Would you say the same if Oz's wolf was a dominant?"

Sage colored. Oz thought about repeating his comment, but the moment seemed to be lost. Silence flavored by the hissing burble of the electric kettle filled the hothouse again.

"I'm sorry, Oz honey," Sage said, touching his wrist lightly. "If anyone should know better, I should."

Oz caught her fingers with his other hand as she drew away. "It's okay-"

"It's really not, honey."

"Protective instincts. I get it."

Sage suddenly reversed their hands so that she was holding him, tightly. "You're not only your instincts. You are a man as much you are a wolf. No matter what anyone says or how they try to justify themselves. You are not an animal. You have a mind. You can think and you can reason."

Oz took a breath, and another, then said, "Plenty of animals know how to reason, too."

Squeezing his hand almost painfully, Sage laughed. It was bright and brittle. "Oh, honey. Honey, I do hope you stay." Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss over his eyebrow. She released his hand and stood.

Asil appeared with a fragrant cup tea in hand. "Take this with you," he told her.

She nodded and took the teacup from his hands. "Thank you," she murmured.

Oz and Asil watched her wander away. She quickly disappeared into the darkened garden. Because Asil didn't move to follow, neither did Oz. Eventually the other man nodded. Turning to Oz, he said, "Good job, pup," before whisking away their used cups from the table.

"Is that a good 'good job' or a bad 'good job'?" Oz asked, watching Asil refill their cups.

"It remains to be seen," Asil said as he turned to the table again. "Drink some more tea."

Asil brought the teapot back and returned it to its place at the center of the table before bringing over another chair so he could sit.

"So," Oz began, feeling awkward about being too obvious, "you think it's possible that Jordy's gonna be okay?"

"I won't make promises that I cannot keep, but I believe he will not be harmed."

"You're not just agreeing with me, are you?"

Asil snorted. "Me? Oh I'm far more likely to be disagreeable for the sake of it. But not with you, pup. Never you, I think."

That got an eyebrow raise from Oz. "Really? You barely know me."

"Tell me, could you willingly cause Sage distress, though you've known only her these few hours?"

"No." Oz thought of her fierce affirmation of his humanity and warm appreciation of his response. "Never."

"I'm not as noble as you are, pup, but I feel the same for Sage and for you.

"Drink your tea."

Oz obeyed with little difficulty. The tea tasted as good as it was fragrant, better even, and in spite of the tense moment with Sage, he was more relaxed now. So relaxed that his body chose that moment to remind him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning.

Huffing in a way that could as easily be interpreted as annoyance as amusement, Asil's eyebrows went up. "Hungry, pup?"

"Yeah. I guess." Oz set down his cup to touch his rumbling stomach.

Asil say back in his chair. "When did you last eat?"

"Uh, breakfast with Sage. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I think so?"

This time Asil's expression was somewhere between deep exasperation and average everyday exasperation. "At least your control is good enough to keep you from wandering the streets looking for the nearest pet."

Oz's brows wrinkled. "Pets? Seriously?"

Hands out palm up over the table, Asil said, "In my experience only the mad and truly desperate. But it can also be difficult for us to keep household animals."

Oz smirked. "Fifi not really of the sharing the house with something that considers her fun-sized?"

"Something like that," Asil said, standing. "You're in luck...I keep snacks just in case."

"Of lingering strays?"

"In case I'm feeling particularly inhospitable," Asil said with a grin that showed too many teeth.

"Don't mind him, Ozzie honey," Sage said as she reappeared from the depths the hothouse. "Asil wants everyone to believe he's a few safety valves short of passing inspection."

"Oh, but I am," he responded, his voice dropping. "The snacks also help when I'm feeling particularly inhospitable."

Not sure how to respond to that, Oz addressed Sage: "Are we cool?"

"Me and you? Absolutely," she said. Oz could almost feel Sage's honeyed voice along his back – a warm amber weight adding color and light to the hothouse.

Then her hand was on his shoulder, followed by a light scratch to his nape as Sage retook her seat at the small, glass-topped table. Oz sighed.

An impish smile crossed Sage's face. "Like that, honey?"

Smiling a little himself, Oz said, "That obvious?"

"It's not my fault you smell like happiness."

Amused, Oz's smile lifted. "What does happiness smell like?"

A plate of what looked like small empanadas appeared in front of Oz. "Right now, it smells like you," Asil said.

Oz chuckled at his gentle irritation.

"See," Sage said, "it is fun teasing, Asil. Your happy scent spiked a little."

Oz smiled broadened. Sage reached across the little table to run her hands up his nape into his hair, ruffling it quickly before pulling away. Or she would have if Oz hadn't leaned into her hand. "Like that, honey?"

"Reminds me of my mom. And Willow."

Scratching at his scalp, Sage said, "Big sister?"

"Oh no," Asil said for him. "I'd bet my second-best roses on it."

"Not your best?" Oz said.

Sage grinned as Asil bristled.

"Guess that's my answer."

"So who is Willow?" Sage asked.

"Girlfriend. Ex."

Sage scratched more firmly at his scalp as said, "Sounds like it didn't end well for our Ozzie."

"Not really, no. I was unfaithful." Sage's scratching paused, and in that second Oz felt like he would float away without the elegant anchor of her fingers. "It was an accident, sort of. At least, I didn't mean... I don't even remember must of it." But his body remembered, and sometimes it tried to make his mind remember, too.

Sage's fingers had started moving again long before he stumbled through his words. He hadn't noticed Asil taking away the teapot to make a fresh brew until there was lavender tickling his nose again. Asil took his seat. He nudged the plate of empanadas.

"Eat. You can confess later."

"Don't werewolves mate for life?"

"Was this woman your mate?" Asil asked, brows raised.

"I thought she might be."

"So no," Asil said decisively. Even Sage had stopped scratching his scalp so she could push the plate of food towards Oz.

"You'd know, honey," she said as she took an empanada and broke it in half. She kept one and offered the other to Oz. "Or so I've been told."

"Did you apologize to the girl?" Asil asked, watching them eat?

Oz nodded.

"For now that is all that matters. You cannot make proper restitution until you are reconciled with yourself."

Oz almost protested. Then he remembered that Charles had found him on the road fighting a demon far above his weight-class, instead of helping Buffy in Sunnydale, because he'd been looking for answers about the wolf. "Yeah."

Sage took another empanada and split it as well. Oz took it, though he wasn't quite done with his first one. Asil poured himself a fresh cup of the fragrant lavender tea, watching the pair eat. When Oz reached for one of the meat pastries on his own, Asil asked him where he was staying.

Shrugging, Oz said, "I had been living out of my van when Charles found me. I have some money – I guess I can take that room again."

At Asil's raised eyebrows, Sage said, "Bran had him in the safe room last night."

Oz glanced at Sage. "Safe room? Is that why it smelled like metal? Like, a lot of metal?

"Mmhmm."

"Hunh. Makes sense." He bit into his empanada.

"Not offended, Ozzie?"

He chewed and swallowed before answering. "Should I be?"

"Not really," Sage said, grinning.

"I take it most wolves would be?"

Asil broke into their conversation: "The very new and very dominant-"

"Which I'm not. New or dominant."

Asil scowled. "So we've noticed. Eat."

Amusement tugging at his lips, Oz quickly popped the other half of his empanada into his mouth. When it was done, he said, "I could always stay here overnight?

"Or not," he quickly amended at the look Asil flashed him. "Got a car I can crash in?"

"Ozzie!"

"Joking. Badly, judging by your faces."

Sage narrowed her eyes at Asil.

"There is always room in Bran's house for visitors."

"I could do that," Oz said slowly.

Sage threw a glare at Asil before asking Oz if that was okay.

"I'm...not sure. I think so. Or, at least it's not a deal."

"Honey, you were the one who said you ran away from Bran. That was only a few hours ago. Are you sure?"

Oz shrugged. "I probably need to apologize for that?"

"I wouldn't," Asil said, his body language an elaborate, but very definite, smirk.

"So, it's totally a thing I need to do."

"Ozzie..." Sage reached for his head again, running the backs of her curled fingers along the shorter sides.

Oz found himself leaning into her touch again. He pushed until she opened her hand and scratched him outright. "Should that feel so good?" he asked.

Voice warm with humor and sympathy, Asil said, "It should. Wolves are very...'touchy feely'."

Both Sage and Oz chuckled at his distaste with the idiom. "Asil is right. Most wolves are much, much more tactile than the average human." At Asil's raised brow, Sage laughed again. "Alright, than the average uptight, give-me-my-personal-space American."

"Oh."

"Expect a lot of hands on your shoulders and arms, shoulder bumps, folks standing closer than you're used to, hair ruffling-"

"Head scratches?"

"If you're good," Sage said, eyes wide and smile wide.

"Some wolves," Asil said with some distaste at their display, "are more selective about who they allow to come as close as all that. Some of it is personal preference and some of it rank. As a submissive wolf you're going to have to establish early how close you will allow relative strangers. Keeping distance, however, is very strange. Even lone wolves crave contact, if not much of it."

Oz nodded. Which caused Sage to scratch a particularly good spot. His eyes fell closed and he sighed. He could hear Sage scoot closer as she focused on that area of his head. Across from them Asil muttered something in Spanish. Sage chuckled. Oz smiled, took a deep breath, held it, then let it out.

Asil's chair moved. The air shifted as he moved around them. Plates were taken away. Water ran in the little sink. A mini-fridge opened. There was more random movement Oz was too distracted to pin down.

Sage leaned in close to Oz. "My grandmother used to say, 'Belly full? Heart full? Time for bed.'"

Oz grunted but didn't move at all.

Looping her long arm around Oz, Sage briefly pressed her forehead against his temple.

"Is it like this with everyone?" Oz murmured. He could feel himself beginning to drift. The sounds of Asil moving around them registered indistinctly.

"For some wolves," Sage said in like tone

"Not you?"

"Only a few, honey."

"Why me?"

She pulled away a little. "My instincts say I should do anything to protect you; do my best to make you happy or at least keep you content."

Eyes still closed, Oz said, "Like a cute puppy?"

"Like a new baby brother."

"Oh." Then, "I could like that."

"Also?"

"Hmm?

"Because you let me."

Oz cracked an eye to see Sage looking far more serious than he had expected. "Asil if right. If you don't want other wolves always trying to treat you like a perpetual kid brother, you're going to have to make the point early. Probably more than once."

Both eyes open now, he nodded solemnly. "Sage..."

"Yeah, Ozzie honey."

"How come you and Asil got all the pretty genes in this family?"

Sage burst into surprised laughter. Asil, passing behind them, raked a not quite gentle hand through Oz's hair.

Not a minute later, the lights overhead went dark.

Oz immediately picked out Sage in the dark. "I think he's trying to tell us something."

Chuckling, she nudged him out of his seat.

Fin[ite]

 **Notes2:** Only 3 stories left.


	15. Lawgiver

**Title:** Lawgiver  
 **Character(s):** Charles Cornick, the McIntyres, Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** While Oz and the Marrok are jamming, Mr. & Mrs. McIntyre finally tell their son's story. Unfortunately this does nothing to help either Charles or Buffy come to terms with what they each understand to be their duty.  
 **Length:** ~3540 words  
 **Notes:** Written at some point after the 2016 FAD. Not previously read by _anyone but me_. Your spot beta'ing is deeply appreciated. (Not to be at all confused with the second story, originally titled "Lawgiver" but now called "Don't Forget What's Right".)

* * *

With enough snacks to satisfy a football team, or two werewolves and a slayer, Mrs. McIntyre finally joined everyone else in the den. Jordy, having had his own snack in the kitchen, was content to play elsewhere (outside or the basement, apparently) while the adults spoke. "But don't be surprised if he runs back in here with a discovery for us," Mrs. McIntyre said.

In moments everyone was settled, although hardly any of the food had been touched. The Watcher had a glass of water and McIntyre had a beer. Neither the Slayer nor Mrs. McIntyre had anything or reached for anything. Charles wasn't there to make friends, and didn't particularly feel like pretending. He didn't think he would have to take the child out, but he'd do it if his father ordered him to. It would hurt him; it might even break him. And if killing a child, one who had fearlessly climbed into his lap and shared his secret because Charles had shared his first, didn't break him then the Slayer was welcome to try.

She'd only torn her eyes away from him for a moment, when Mrs. McIntyre had entered the room. Then Charles had stood with McIntyre to offer his help (his father's teaching on propriety and chivalry were never far), and the Slayer's eyes were on him again.

Her judgment was a comforting weight as he responded to Mrs. McIntyre, "That's quite alright."

"Jordy likes you," she said.

True though it was, acknowledging it wouldn't have helped anyone. "Tell me your son's story. Why were you living on the Hellmouth?"

The McIntyres shook their heads. "We weren't," McIntyre said.

"I grew up there," Mrs. McIntyre said. "To this day I don't know why we stayed or how my sister could raise her family there. Tradition, I suppose. But when one of Jordan's packmates told me that we'd have to move-"

"I was working in Sunnydale on assignment," McIntyre interjected.

"We'd met before," Mrs McIntyre said, "at a Tech Conference, or what passed for one in the late 70s, and we'd hit it off, so when Jordan was assigned here for a few months it was easy to fall into each other's orbits again, and eventually fall in love."

"It helps that we both come from families that don't believe in overthinking things," McIntyre said, picking up his wife's story. "I proposed the second month I was here, we were married during the third and by then my stint on the Hellmouth as over and it was time to go home. Well, eventually."

"We did the honeymoon thing first," Mrs. McIntyre clarified.

"Mrs. McIntyre," Giles said, addressing the only other full human in the house, "during those three months you didn't notice something strange about Mr. McIntyre's behavior?"

Nodding, she said, "I did. More than disappearing around the night of the full moon, Jordan was short-tempered and moody. Both are very un-McIntyre-like behaviors. When I confronted Jordan about it, he told me straight off that he was a werewolf and about Sunnydale. That it's a Hellmouth."

"Then I asked her to marry me." The McIntyre's shared a small smile. "And we ran as far and fast from Sunnydale as my savings account could take us."

"Scotland," Mrs. McIntyre supplied. "Jordan's family is from there, and mine's from England. Once we got the clearance from the packs we had to pass through, we were gone. Our oldest, Maggie...Margaret, was conceived overseas. She's a little older than her cousin Oz.

"And she's not a wolf," the Slayer asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Mrs. McIntyre chuckled. "You might have thought so from the way she growled as a baby, but we think she picked that up from the neighbor's dog. Their kids used to sit for us. But, no. No turning at the full moon for Maggie."

Charles spoke for the first time since asking the McIntyres about their youngest. "Did your daughter ever bite anyone?"

"Yes!" Mrs. McIntyre exclaimed. "Me!"

Grimacing, McIntyre said, "We think she got that from the neighbor's dog as well. But Maureen is still as human as they get. Not that it would have mattered even if Maggie had been a baby wolf."

The Slayer and her Watcher gave McIntyre confused and questioning looks. Charles answered: "It takes more than a bite to make a werewolf. At least it does when a Hellmouth isn't involved. Becoming a wolf is a nearly fatal experience."

"So what happened with Jordy?" the Watcher asked.

"Charles said it. Sunnydale," the Slayer said, shaking her head. "It's always Sunnydale."

Mrs. McIntyre nodded. "The year Jordy was born, my father was very ill. I was here a lot to help Alice, my sister, take care of him. I all but lived with her family near the end."

"I'd come to visit, give the girls a break from taking care of their dad," McIntyre said, shrugging. "Never near the full moon. I knew better. Or I thought I did."

"Jordy was conceived in Sunnydale. My father died so suddenly we didn't even realize what was going on for a while. By then I was back home in Scottsrose and everything was more or less back to normal."

"That Jordy was conceived on the Hellmouth didn't seem like a problem at first," McIntyre said. "We chalked up his moodiness to...we didn't really think about it at all. He was a baby. There's a long time where they want things that you'd probably give them, if only you spoke the same language. Sometimes they're moody. If you're lucky, you figure it out before you both start to cry."

Charles admired the Slayer keeping her mild distress from her face. He and McIntyre could smell it of course. Considering the subject matter, she was probably swearing off children. If she lived that long.

He saw the moment the other half of the thought crossed her mind. Instead of sadness, fear or anger, a steely resolve crossed her face before returning to an expression of polite curiosity.

Rolling her eyes at her husband, Mrs. McIntyre continued: "It wasn't until Jordy's teeth came in that we knew something might be wrong.

"They came in very fast, much sooner than the pediatrician expected, and they all seemed to come in at once. The teething was terrible. Considering what happened with Oz, we're lucky he didn't bite me."

"Or Maggie," McIntyre added.

"Or Maggie. That's true. She's so much older than her brother that she wasn't home much to help with her brother. But she did keep him whenever her other obligations allowed. You're right, Jordan." She looked up towards the ceiling. "Sorry, baby. I'll make your favorite cake next time you're home. Not that you'll know why."

"Or care."

Mrs. McIntyre smiled at her husband. "Also true."

"Mrs. McIntyre," Charles said.

Both McIntyres sobered. "Yes. Jordy. He, um, got all his teeth very early. His senses seemed keener...hearing, eyesight, smell, tactile responses...too keen for his age and, well, species although the pediatrician never put it that way. Except for his small size-"

"Which was not a surprise considering our relative heights," McIntyre interjected.

"-Jordy has always tested very high, sometimes off the charts. So far his pediatrician just wants us to let her know when he starts playing sports so she can bet on the winning team," Mrs. McIntyre said with a smile. "Honestly, if Jordy hadn't bitten Oz we wouldn't have even thought it could be more than that."

"Is that why you didn't bring this to your alpha?"

All eyes turned to Charles.

McIntyre nodded solemnly. "We thought..." He coughed and tried again. "We thought it wouldn't be worth mentioning to the pack until Jordy hit puberty. Maybe." Eyes falling to the floor, he reached for his wife's hand. "We were holding out hope."

"False hope," Charles said.

"Hey!" that from the Slayer.

"It's not my job to pander, Slayer."

"Buffy," she reminded him.

"It's my job to seek and uphold truth."

Eyes spitting fire, she bit out, "Ditto."

"I thought your job was to destroy the wicked," Charles shot back, smiling widely. Neither he nor his Brother Wolf had forgotten that she'd dared to hold back against them during their fight, less than thirty minutes ago.

"Ditto," she said again, her own smile showing far too many teeth. "Maybe you need a demonstration of what that looks like."

"Children," the Watcher snapped. "That's quite enough." Perhaps working with the longest lived slayer had made him immune to self-preservation. He certainly wasn't intimidated by either of their displays.

Before anyone else could speak, Jordy came running in. He dumped a handful of flowers into his mother's lap, then sped off.

A frog leapt out, startling everyone in the room. It's bid for freedom was cut short by McIntyre, who caught it handily. "Excuse me while I deal with the backyard expat," he said to the room at large. The tension had effectively been cut, though, and for that Charles was grateful.

Prolonged time with the Slayer poked holes in Charles' self-control. It appeared he did the same for her. Except for that first meeting in a wooded park in Sunnydale, the pair of them quickly became like two alphas fighting over territory. In a way, he supposed they were. She'd ceded Oz to him with minimum fuss. Although now that he thought about it, she hadn't given Oz up; she'd given Charles leave to search for him with a promise of retribution if her friend came to harm. Hmm.

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "I remember that face. I also remember not liking that face the first time I saw it."

And as with the first time, Charles felt a deeply uncharacteristic desire to grin at the Slayer. Brother Wolf's continued ire and Charles' own streak of self-preservation kept him from doing so. Something must have shown on his face, though, because the Watcher's hand was suddenly on his charge's knee as he hissed her name.

"Mr. Cornick..." Mrs. McIntyre said, catching Charles' attention. "...what happens to us now? I promise you, if we had thought Jordy was a danger we would have been more careful, more proactive. We might have been optimistic in our hopes, but we're not foolish." A fleeting smile touched her lips before it fell under the weight of her fears. "No one survives Sunnydale being a fool."

"Not even the demons," the Slayer said with self-satisfied malice.

Mrs. McIntyre threw her a look that was more effective than anything either Charles or her Watcher had done to get her to back off. McIntyre was walking back in, drying his hands on a rag, as Mrs. McIntyre turned her attention to Charles.

"I'm going to speak to my father," he said before she asked her question again. "Then we'll know."

Across the room, the Slayer vibrated with tension and violence. When he glanced that way, she and her Watcher were having a heated conversation too low even for Charles' ears.

The McIntyre nodded. "Okay," Mrs. McIntyre said. "Well, no, not okay but-"

"We can protect you," the Slayer said from her knees at the McIntyres' feet. Not expecting it, she'd moved too fast for either Charles or McIntyre to see, startling them into baring their teeth.

"Buffy!" her Watcher snapped. Not part of the plan then.

"We can do it, Giles," she told the older man, but she was looking up into Mrs. McIntyre's face. She took the woman's hands. "I promise."

"Sweet girl," she said squeezing the Slayer's hands. "Sweet girl. Maybe if we were a normal human family I would take you up on your offer, but I accepted..." She glanced at her husband. "We accepted what it meant to raise a family with the wolves before even Maggie was born."

"Maureen gave me the third degree when she asked about being a werewolf. I tried to be as honest as possible," McIntyre said. "And then when the thing with Oz happened." He swallowed visibly. "We talked about it."

The Slayer rocked back on her heels, angry again. "And you're just okay with killing your kid for being a kid?"

"Hell no," McIntyre snarled.

No less incensed but far better controlled, Mrs. McIntyre said, "You are a sweet girl, but you are only a girl."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off by Mrs. McIntyre, "How much worse would it be for us, Buffy, if our child ran wild? If he started changing people wantonly...not even out of viciousness or somehow being evil, but because he's a child who doesn't know how to control himself. Then Mr. Cornick won't have any option but to destroy him and possibly every person he's changed. We would be responsible for all those lives and pain of their families. Because we were selfish. And foolish."

"But Jordy's not like that," the Slayer protested softly. Charles could hear the tears in her voice and scent them on the air.

"No, he's not."

"And if you can see that already," McIntyre said, calmer now, "then we're sure Charles and the Marrok will see it, too. Werewolf justice can seem cruel, but the Marrok has a reputation for being fair."

McIntyre glanced at Charles, as if for confirmation. The Slayer scoffed. "The Marrok is totally his dad. He's so on his old man's side."

The Slayer ran a quick hand across her cheeks, but the tears continued flow. Mrs. McIntyre took her hands. "You feel like you've failed." She made it a statement instead of a question.

Shoulders tightening, the Slayer said, "Maybe a little."

Using their joined hands, Mrs. McIntyre wiped the girl's tears. "If only you knew how...how much relief I feel knowing that my son and my nephew have such a fierce protector. As much as every instinct is telling me that I am, in fact, part grizzly bear when it comes my children, I can only do so much against werewolves. But, you, Buffy... As terrible as this all is, your determination has been a balm to our frazzled nerves. I would follow you anywhere if I didn't think the Marrok was just and fair."

Habit helped Charles to ignore the faces of those who had died under his and his da's claws in the name of justice – a justice not always in keeping with the opinion of family and friends. Charles hadn't agreed with all of them, but, as his father's second, he had stood behind every decision.

Charles' phone buzzed in his pocket. Standing, he slipped it out and glanced at the display. "I have to take this. Excuse me."

McIntyre nodded. "Sure. You can use my study or the back porch. Jordy's in from playing."

Charles nodded in return, then left the house. He circled around to the back as suggested, walking to the edge of the property. Night was all but on them. It would be darker still in the mountains of Montana. "Da."

"Bring them to Aspen Creek. The Slayer, too, if you think she'll come along."

"She'll come along."

"Good."

"When?" Charles asked.

"Two days." The connection went dead. Charles made his way back to the house. It wasn't the first time his father had seemed to know what was going on without being told. Such things had long since ceased to surprise him. These days it was more of a matter when Bran would step in than if.

All but convinced that his father would agree with his assessment that the boy was largely harmless, if immature, Charles was relatively lighthearted when he rejoined the group in the family room. Jordy had returned in his absence. He and the Slayer, still kneeling on the carpet, were playing a simple hand game. "Do you know this game, Mr. Charles?" he asked, glancing up only briefly.

"I don't think I do," Charles said.

"Buffy can teach you," he said. "Right, Buffy?"

The Slayer's smile would have done Asil proud. "I bet there are a couple of hand games I could teach Charles."

Across the room, her Watcher cleared his throat. The Slayer's face became the picture of innocence. "What?"

"Buffy..."

"Jordy, did I say something bad?"

The child hesitated, losing the rhythm of the game. The adults chuckled. "I guess not?" he finally said, without sounding at all convinced.

Smiling faintly (mostly at the scowl the Slayer was trying to hide from her new young friend), Charles went to one knee on Jordy's other side. Even at half his height he towered over both boy and Slayer. Neither seemed intimidated. "Jordy, how would you like to meet my father?"

The boy's interest sparked bright enough to make the Slayer and Mrs. McIntyre flinch. McIntyre put his hand in his wife's and she seemed to settle. Jordy didn't notice. "Where does he live?"

"In Montana."

Brows coming together, he said, "Is Montana close?"

Charles shook his head slowly. "If we started right now, we wouldn't get there until late tomorrow night."

"Are we leaving tonight?" McIntyre asked quietly.

"Within two days," Charles said.

Mrs. McIntyre stood suddenly. "Time to get ready for bed, Jord-o."

The boy pouted. "But I want to go with Mr. Charles."

The Slayer made a strangled sound. Everyone pretended not to hear it, except Jordy. He turned to her, concern drawing his eyebrows together again. "Are you okay?"

The Slayer covered with a coughed. "Just something in my throat. Don't worry about me. You should probably go with your mom."

Jordy rolled his eyes and his body dramatically. "O-kay."

"You bet, 'Okay'," Mrs. McIntyre said, coming to take her son's hand. She wouldn't look at Charles, or anyone, as she led him out of sight. Jordy never stopped talking, although the conversation became brighter the further away from the other adults he was.

Charles was standing with his hands up moments before he felt the Slayer's laser focus land on him again. "There's nothing wrong, as far as I know."

"As far as you know!" she scoffed.

"I'm not psychic...Buffy." Her eyes narrowed, but she allowed him to keep speaking as Charles told her, McIntyre and the Watcher his estimation: that Jordy was unique but largely safe. "But his case is so unique and the potential for danger is so high that I'm not surprised my father wants to meet him in person."

"But he's okay," McIntyre said, showing real anxiety for the first time since he'd run outside to stop Charles' and the Slayer's fight. "The Marrok just wants to meet him."

"I can't make promises. My father will earnestly and genuinely consider my advice. As his second, my word holds much weight, but my father is his own man."

McIntyre shot up from his seat and ran a hand through his hair. The Watcher went to his side. "Perhaps a glass of water. It's been a long day."

McIntyre nodded. The scent of his exhaustion and distress bit at Charles and Brother Wolf as the two men passed into the kitchen.

"I'm going with you," the Slayer said. Then louder, "Giles, we're totally going with!"

The Watcher poked his head out of the kitchen. "I wouldn't expect anything less of you, Buffy. You'll have to inform your mother and the Scoobies."

"Gi-iles! Not in front of Mr. Tall Dark And Furry!"

"Buffy... No. Just, no."

"What?"

The Watcher rolled his eyes (as Charles throttled his amusement). "Werewolves have a very strong commitment to family. The knowledge of her existence is quite safe with Mr. Cornick."

There was a note of that meant for Charles himself. Responding to it, with all seriousness Charles said, "I can promise that no matter what may happen, your mother is safe from the Marrok's wolves."

He was once again struck with the Watcher's temerity and wondered if it had something to do with having this strange Slayer as his charge. Charles rarely had direct dealings with Watchers, so he couldn't say.

"And all the wolves are the Marrok's wolves, right?" the Slayer asked.

"All the North American ones."

"What about the non? Will the Marrok protect my mom from them, too?"

"Sign a treaty with us and find out," Charles said with his most charming smile on display. It was likely that his father would protect the Slayer's mother regardless, if only to keep his wolves on the right side of the war such an attack would precipitate.

With her arms crossed over her chest and her hips cocked, she reminded him strongly of Mercy. "I suggest we meet here tomorrow morning," he said. "After you consult with your mother."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking my mom?"

"Never," Charles said seriously.

"Okay. Okay, fine. If the McIntyres are golden with that, we can be, too."

"Seven AM, Slayer."

Her arms and jaw dropped. Quickly resigning herself in, she crossed her arms again. "Only if you swear to call me Buffy."

"I've met a number of Slayers. I'll meet many more."

"Not like me. You'll never meet another Slayer like me." Something about her words were...

He nodded. "Fair enough. Buffy."

She flashed him a triumphant smile, until she remembered that they had signed up for a 7am ride. Pouting, her stance loosened and her eyes went wide. "How do you feel about 8?"

Fin[ite]


	16. 1, 2, 3

**Title:** 1, 2, 3  
 **Character(s):** Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles, Charles Cornick, the McIntyre Family, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** Road trip!  
 **Length:** ~4,230 words  
 **Notes:** the word of the day supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

* * *

The Slayer and her Watcher – Buffy and Giles – pulled up in front of the McIntyre's home as Charles was opening the door to his rental. They were early, as promised, but he doubted the Slayer would classify herself as "bright". A strong morning breeze pulled Charles' hair across his shoulder until he regretted not having braided it back before he'd checked out of his motel room. The loose hair escaping the Slayer's hasty updo also escaped her attempt to finger-thread it into the main mass, as she tried to get out of her side of the little car and hold a paper cup of coffee at the same time. Instead of growling, as Charles half-expected, she pouted and whined.

"Don't worry, Buff. I'll fix it for you later," a soft feminine voice called from the interior of the car.

Charles' eyes met the Watcher's – Giles. "Field trip?" he asked.

"Sure," Buffy said chirpily. Then slumped. "Why no make-y with the wake-y, Coffee?" she whined to the paper cup in her hands.

Giles cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. The other members of our group have decided-"

"Demanded!" came the same feminine voice, but much less softly.

"-that they be allowed to join us on this morning's...expedition."

The beginnings of a smirk pulled at Charles' mouth. "Too early for you, Mr. Giles?"

"Me? No, not at all. My charges are, unfortunately, a different story altogether."

Giles was far more personable than Charles expected. So far neither of his two known quantities were behaving as expected, and there were still the two other members of their group: the female and a completely unknown, both likely to be around Buffy's age based on the way Giles spoke of them. All told, Charles wasn't exactly pleased with how this was unfolding, and the McIntyres weren't even out of the house yet. But he was amused.

They'd make terrible wolves, Brother Wolf mused.

Jealous?, Charles asked his brother.

Before he could get an answer, or not, McIntyre was standing fully clothed but barefoot in his front door. Coffee and other food smells traveled in tempting waves as the morning breeze rose and fell. The scent was strong enough to draw the other two travelers out of Giles' little car.

Charles' guess about the female was correct. "I smell coffee!"

"No!" came from the other three.

The instant refusal only dimmed the redhead's enthusiasm for a moment. "Sugar?"

That garnered No's from Buffy and Giles but an enthusiastic Yes! from the other backseat traveler - a young man about the same age as Buffy and the young woman. Charles was somewhat amused to note that he was a brunette. One of each? Brother Wolf asked, poking at Charles' amusement but not quite seeing the humor. After all, wolves came in all sorts of colorings and markings; human coloring was boring in comparison.

"All the sugar, yes please!" the young man said, bringing Charles attention back into focus. With the promise of food straightening his spine, he towered over his female companions although he was still an inch or two shy of Giles' six feet. Lanky in a way that spoke of his youth, there was also a body assuredness that suggested he used his body for more than playing video games. If he had to guess, Charles would say he was a part-time athlete or enjoyed being handy. The redhead wasn't as easy to read. There was something artificial about her energy, whether from caffeine she'd already consumed or as a reaction to their "field trip" Charles didn't know, but he'd lay odds on both.

So these were the Slayer's, Buffy's, best friends. This was the girl that had prompted a werewolf like Oz to take justice – vengeance – into his own hands. Charles' impression of Oz was that of a classic submissive wolf: calm, confident, self-assured and controlled. Or that was what he would be when he regained the sense of self he'd lost killing Veruca on this girl's behalf. Not for the first time, Charles found himself wondering about her. It took a lot to send a submissive into a murderous rage, as evidenced by the way Oz had been pulled into her sphere. If he had been older he might have been able to resist some of her influence, if not all of it. That hadn't been the case.

Then again if she hadn't gone after the girl, if she'd been satisfied with enticing the pup away from his pack and his chosen, Veruca might still be alive to cause trouble elsewhere.

He must have been staring at the girl as these thoughts chased themselves. Her shoulders were curling in protectively as her eyes found somewhere else to be. More telling, the— Buffy's attention, which had been on the boy, was now on the redhead. "You okay there, Wills?"

"We don't have time for sugar," Charles said before the girl could answer.

Now the boy was dejected, too. "Aw, c'mon, Mom. Please?"

But not nearly as intimidated. There was a hard glint to his eye as he came to stand behind the girl. That certainly drew the Sla- Buffy's attention. She sauntered in front of her friends. "Yeah, Mom. Please?"

A slow, unfriendly, smile pulled at Charles' lips. "Mom—?"

As if he'd called for her, Mrs. McIntyre came hurrying down the walk a heavily laden tray in hand. "I know we need to get going if we want to be there sooner than later, but if we eat and use the facilities now we should be able to push on longer at the start."

If we do this, we should be able to do that... Charles' smile turned more friendly in the face of such an experienced wolf handler. That he was utterly confident in his place in the world helped him not mind being managed.

"That is something to consider," Charles conceded.

Sensing victory, the boy perked. "Yummy deliciousness is ours for the nom-nomming?"

All three young people turned innocent, pleading eyes on Mrs. McIntyre. "You forget that I only recently got one of you out the house," she said with mock-sternness as she approached the apparently ravenous trio.

The redhead bounced on her toes. "Oh! Margaret, right?"

"How did you know?"

"Oz used to talk about her sometimes. She was his favorite cousin. Is his favorite," she quickly corrected, throwing a glance in Charles' direction. Which Buffy echoed with far less trepidation.

"The last time I spoke to my father, he and the pup had spent the afternoon in an acoustic jam session," he said. Charles turned to Mrs. McIntyre. "These smell homemade."

"They are homemade."

A wide grin split his face. From the corner of his eye he saw the boy dart forward. "Did I hear homemade?"

"You did, young man. Xander, yes?"

The question stopped his quick fingers from snagging their third pastry. "Oh, yeah. Hey. Manners. I have them. Um..." He glanced between the sticky fingers of one hand and the other busy holding pilfered pastries. "Please excuse my hands of happy stickiness."

Giles cleared his throat and Charles raised his eyebrow.

"Uh..."

Mrs. McIntyre grinned. "I quite understand."

"I don't," Buffy said to the other girl. "Do you?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion we'd rather not."

"Good enough for me."

"You girls must be Willow and Buffy," Mrs. McIntyre said.

The redhead raised her hand. "Willow."

Buffy followed her friend. "Buffy."

"Oz spoke of you three very fondly. Especially you, Willow."

"Oh..."

"Why don't we go inside and get this together? We are trying to get an early start." Mrs. McIntyre looked up at Charles as she spoke, radiating calm confidence to all his senses, as if she had no part in their delay.

Brother Wolf chuckled. The McIntyres got what they wanted and Charles didn't lose face. His father's mate would be a much happier woman if she ever stooped low enough to learn the skill.

* * *

With three cars they decided they could split the load of people and supplies more evenly by breaking up Giles' passengers amongst the other two cars. Or, more accurately, Willow was determined to ride with the McIntyres, Xander was fixed on sleeping, and Buffy had bounded over to Charles (in the lead car) with a pleased and perky air, chirping, "Pilot to copilot!"

Arms crossed over his chest, Charles' eyebrows had risen. "You want to drive?"

Xander, standing within earshot, had begun to laugh. Both Charles and Buffy had looked at him, a scowl on Buffy's face.

Xander had blushed. "Okay, so I find the humor of 5 year olds amusing. I thought this was a judgement-free field trip."

Coloring herself, Buffy had apologized to her friend before turning her attention back to Charles. "No, I'm not planning to drive, but 'Copilot to pilot!' doesn't have the same ring."

Amused in spite of himself, Charles had nodded. "Fine. How are you with a map?"

"Amazingly decent."

"Good to know."

They were now several hours into their trip and Charles hadn't asked for directions yet. Buffy kept looking at him askance. He couldn't quite see her eyes, but the sense of her presence strengthened whenever she looked her way. It didn't make up for their previous encounters, but even Brother Wolf agreed that it was a start.

The McIntyres' assessment that they would all travel more efficiently if they were fed and able to use the restroom before they left had been correct. Charles wasn't surprised. He was no stranger to long trips. He employed the same strategy often enough. His only excuse for not agreeing with Mrs. McIntyre's plan was the alpha posturing he and Buffy couldn't seem to resist whenever they were close enough for eye contact.

The bladder of a 5 year old could only be denied for so long, however.

Buffy turned towards Charles as she pulled her phone away from her ear. He could hear Willow talking to the McIntyres on the other end.

"Jordy needs to go to the little puppy's room. The sooner the better." Correctly interpreting Charles' raised eyebrow as a request for more information, she added, "Apparently he tried holding it way longer than he should have because somebody was on a schedule."

Her tone left no doubt as to which "somebody" was to blame.

Instead of responding, he signaled a lane switch and slowly brought their small caravan into what would become the exit lane.

"Whatcha doin'?" Somehow Buffy managed to say the words as if she were chewing bubblegum, though he knew there was nothing in her mouth. He half expected that if he looked at her, he'd find that she was twirling her blond hair around a finger.

"There aren't too many places in this part of the country that I'm not familiar with," he said instead of glancing her way. "I'm confident I can find something that will meet our needs."

"So is that, like, because you're really old or, like, you travel a lot?"

Just as when she'd said that she wasn't harboring a rogue, Charles tasted the edge of a lie in Buffy's words. This time, however, he was certain the partial truth was to be found in her dumb blonde act. She'd already proved she was anything but. "Does this usually work on people?" he said in lieu of answering her question.

"Does what usually work?" Her scent said that she was confused and defensive.

"Pretending to be a dizzy California girl and less intelligent than you obviously are." Charles kept his tone mild and even. Confused and defensive wolves could be dangerous. The same had been true of every Slayer he'd known. He had a feeling it was one of the few things Buffy had in common with her predecessors.

She squirmed a little in her seat, whether from being called out or the backhanded compliment, Charles couldn't guess. It had the desired effect either way. "And here I thought I was getting better with the subtle," she said with a mournful air and, when Charles hazarded a glance, an exaggerated pout.

Tasting no lies, he deigned to smile, but only a little. Samuel would have probably opened the door and flung himself out of the moving car, or laughed himself silly if he were there. Charles closed the door on those thoughts. "I have a few more years studying human behavior than you do."

"So you are old!"

Charles' second eyebrow rose to meet the first.

"Look, if you have 'a few more years' experience studying human soft-sell technique, then I've got plenty on studying the supernaturally old in young bodies."

"Do you always use ten words where two would suffice?" was his very dry response as he signaled that they were getting off the highway.

"Oh em gee…so old," was hers.

Chuckling, Charles guided their party off the highway and into town.

* * *

They turned the stop into a late breakfast/early lunch. Jordy once again was the motivating factor. Charles could see that the Slayer's team were surprised that he wasn't angry, or even annoyed. He had already factored in the boy's needs when planning the trip. Part of the reason he'd wanted to leave as early as possible was so they could push through while Jordy slept, and gain time they were going to lose as they stopped for the boy's comfort and the peace of his parents. Charles might not have children of his own, but he had enough experience traveling with those less able then himself to know to make allowances for them.

At the moment, only he and the girl Willow were at the round booth they'd chosen. Everyone else was in the restroom. He thought Buffy's friend was handling his silence well. She was confident enough not to fill the silence with chatter and for that Charles was grateful. She was, however, concentrating very hard on shredding a dinner roll into tiny, inedible bits. Having seen her interact with Jordy and the McIntyres, Charles was sure he was the source of her nerves.

He tensed as a stranger approached their booth from behind. Between them, Charles and Buffy had decided to sit on opposite sides of the booth, splitting their need to watch the exits. If he'd been on his own, and forced to choose the same booth, he probably would have taken the center seat. There were two other circular booths flanking their own, and a large triangular planter between them that could be relied on to protect their rear. Charles had used tables against attackers before. That, however, counted on having the upper hand on an approaching threat, which meant seeing them first. In which case he probably wouldn't have chosen a circular booth at all.

"This long haired fellow botherin' you, Miss?" The owner of the voice, the stranger, placed his hand next to Charles' head. Considering that Willow had sat down after Charles, it seemed like a stupid question to ask.

Willow, however, didn't react. Her attention was far more distant than Charles had realized as she continued to shred her dinner roll.

"Hey! Red! I'm talking to you," the stranger snapped.

Brother Wolf bristled. Charles wasn't exactly pleased himself. "It looks like she doesn't want to speak to you, friend."

"Stay out of it, Injun Pete," the stranger snarled down at Charles.

Brother Wolf dropped his growing anger in favor of amusement. 'Haven't heard that in a while.'

Apparently it had been enough to divert Willow's attention as well. Her eyes were flashing when she looked up at the stranger. "Hey! That was distinctly not called for, Mister."

"You and Injun Pete here an item or something?" the stranger said. If his sarcasm got any thicker the trailing vines of the plant behind their booth were going to curl up and die.

"Hey, very not cool, Mister Inappropriate. Charles has a name. Which is obviously Charles," she tacked on, more angry then flustered.

The stranger laughed - an ugly sound that was enough to make Charles actually wary for the first time. Then he did something that Charles could only guess at by the sudden silence of the diners around them and the sparks flashing in Willow's eyes. Actual, honest to God sparks.

'Latent witchblood,' Brother Wolf muttered in his ear as if Charles couldn't tell. True to form, Willow's latent heritage was making its appearance at what would quickly become the worst possible moment if things kept going the way they were.

Charles quickly stood and faced the stranger for the first time. Who was more amusing in person for all the wrong reasons than he'd been over Charles' shoulder. He towered over the stranger. "You should apologize. And then you should leave."

The stranger's eyes immediately dropped and his shoulders curled inward as the weight of Charles and Brother Wolf came to bear. But he still didn't apologize. He might not be particularly dominant, but he was stubborn and it was starting to annoy Charles. Who growled. A little.

The stranger's eyes shot to Charles' for a second before darting away. "S-sorry."

"Not to me," Charles said as he shifted his weight so that Willow was visible once more.

"Sorry, m-ma'am. I mean, M-miss. I'm sorry, Miss." The stranger nearly leapt at the opening Charles made when he shifted his weight further.

Charles retook his seat as Buffy joined the table, sitting at her friend's side. "Nice growl-work," she said, and it was a genuine compliment. "You okay Wills?"

"I could have taken him," Willow groused.

"Like totally! Your pencil action is second to none!"

"Yes," Charles and Brother Wolf said in general agreement with the sentiment if not the incomprehensible words.

"Oh! Um...thank you?"

He tipped his head in her direction as Brother Wolf said, 'Buffy brownie points, attained.'

They'd been riding with the Slayer too long.

"I'm sorry about that jerkface," Willow said to Charles, her expression still stormy.

"Yeah, and the rest of these neanderthals," Buffy chimed in, also very obviously unhappy. The 'jerkface' was the only person who had approached them, but he wasn't the only one in the diner who'd been giving their group – giving Charles – hostile looks from the moment they'd walked in. "You wanna make like a tree? There's gotta be someplace else on the road where we can graze in peace."

Smiling, Charles said, "If I only went places where I didn't stick out, I wouldn't go anywhere. I'm fine right here."

"Spit it out, Slayer," Charles said to the road ahead.

Like squirting water at a misbehaving pet, his words stopped Buffy in her tracks. Of course, like the proverbial pet, she was now annoyed with him, but it was better than whatever was going on in her head.

Whatever that was, Buffy had been sitting on it for most of the day. Traffic was getting heavier now, as they passed along the outskirts of a large city at the tail end of rush hour. It would be best if they found lodging for the night and arrive in Aspen Creek in the early afternoon. To do that, though, they'd have to survive the trip. Between the stress of sharing the road with less competent drivers and sharing the rental with Buffy's agitation, they weren't going to make it.

"I thought we had an agreement," Charles said very carefully, still watching the drivers ahead, who were all trying his usually considerable patience.

"You mean the one where you agreed to call me by my name?" Buffy wasn't growling, but she was definitely unhappy. Good.

"I mean the one where you're my copilot."

"What the what now?"

"Didn't you agree to be my copilot?"

He couldn't see it, but he thought she rolled her eyes when she said, "Like, duh. I'm here in ye olde copilot's seat."

"Then say whatever has been on your mind for the last six hours."

"It hasn't been six hours," she said, but there was no fight in it.

Charles shot her a quick glance, but didn't reply otherwise. Partly because he was too busy trying not to simply ditch the paved road for a dirt track that would take them far from rush hour traffic and it's questionable drivers. The SUV he'd rented could take it, but the other two vehicles in their little caravan couldn't.

Another idiot decided cutting in front of him to cross through a negligible gap between cars was smarter than waiting for the two-lane highway to open up as Charles (and surely this idiot with local plates) knew it would. Charles had the reflexes to pull off that kind of move, but even if he hadn't had Giles and the McIntyres following him, he wouldn't have attempted it. There were too many other drivers to account for. They had as much right to get home safely as the jerk now pulling the same maneuver several cars ahead of them.

Charles could feel a growl building in his chest. As could, apparently, Buffy. "Hey, I didn't think it was that serious."

"It's not you, it's fools like-"

"Like that guy trying to cause a six car pileup on the interstate?"

"Yes. Him. But your agitation is not helping."

"Oh alright!" Buffy huffed. "Look, I really appreciate the way you handled the situation with the jerkwad back at the first diner. You know, the one who was harassing you and Willow?"

He nodded.

"I mean you let her bawl him out without getting all macho alpha greasehead about it, and you stepped in before it could escalate."

"Your friend is witch-born, you know."

Buffy's entire being brightened as she nodded. "That's our Willow! She's been doing the Wicca earth magic thing for almost a year now. It even helped save the world once."

Charles shook his head. "Your friend is not just Wiccan. Somewhere in her family tree is one of the great Witch families - maybe more than one considering how weak genuine witch-blood is outside the remaining families."

"You say that like it's a problem." Gone was all her bubbly fellow-feeling.

"The probability of it becoming one is high."

"For us or for the wolves."

"Both."

"How?"

He'd already been thinking of how to discuss this with her, so his answer was readily available. "Latent witchblood likes to show up when it's least convenient to everyone involved. It can be big and destructive or subtle and destructive, but no one walks away untouched or unharmed. That's your problem."

"And the problem for the wolves?" He could hear Buffy's raised eyebrows.

"The Marrok doesn't particularly like witches."

Buffy groaned. "I was just about to get all gushy and tell you how not-a-bad-thing forming an alliance with the North American wolves would be."

Charles nodded. He'd been wondering.

"And so your dad's un-fondness for witches is a problem for you and not us, how?"

"My father also wants an alliance, if possible."

"He does know that alliance with me isn't an alliance with the next Slayer."

"But it does set precedent."

"Tricky, tricky wolves."

"Old, old wolves."

They lapsed into a silence that was far less charged than it had been only a few minutes before. Until Buffy broke it: "About this latent witchblood with the timing of Erica Kane during sweeps season."

That was strange enough to draw Charles' eyes from the road, only to find that Buffy was looking straight ahead. As his eyes came back around, he had a feeling this Slayer was going to make his father rethink the value of losing his ability to listen to the thoughts of others. "Yes."

"Is there a way to, y'know, soften the blow or whatever?" Now she did glance at him.

"Get her trained by an established witch now."

"That'll keep Wills from going boom without the shakalacka?"

Charles tried very hard not to smile. The subject was very serious and Buffy was quite earnest, but-

"Your friend's witchblood will still manifest, but the probability that it will happen in the presence of her mentor should mitigate the effects."

"Or maybe Wills will recognize what's happening and bring the drama down to zero."

"It's possible."

They continued to inch along, the silence almost as easy as it had been early that morning. And once again it was Buffy who broke it, fifteen minutes and a few hundred yards later. "Would Willow's teeny tiny streak of witchblood really stop the Marrok from forming an alliance with us?"

"While she's untrained? Yes. My father takes the safety of the packs very seriously. Your friend isn't very safe right now."

"But after she's trained?"

"You say that as if you're sure she'll want to be."

"Wills turn down a chance to learn something from an expert? Ha. Hahaha. Never happen. First of all: nerd. Like major. Second of all, she's got that protective thing going for her, too. The last thing she'll want to do is be a danger to us when a little learning will go a long way."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and swore. "Now there's a conversation that's going to be the kind of fun that's not."

"It's getting late," Charles said, "and we still have a long way to go. We should find a place to stay for the night."

Buffy pulled the map from where she'd hidden it during the drive. If she was studying it more intently than it deserved, Charles didn't feel the need to mention it.

Fin[ite]The Slayer and her Watcher – Buffy and Giles – pulled up in front of the McIntyre's home as Charles was opening the door to his rental. They were early, as promised, but he doubted the Slayer would classify herself as "bright". A strong morning breeze pulled Charles' hair across his shoulder until he regretted not having braided it back before he'd checked out of his motel room. The loose hair escaping the Slayer's hasty updo also escaped her attempt to finger-thread it into the main mass, as she tried to get out of her side of the little car and hold a paper cup of coffee at the same time. Instead of growling, as Charles half-expected, she pouted and whined.

"Don't worry, Buff. I'll fix it for you later," a soft feminine voice called from the interior of the car.

Charles' eyes met the Watcher's – Giles. "Field trip?" he asked.

"Sure," Buffy said chirpily. Then slumped. "Why no make-y with the wake-y, Coffee?" she whined to the paper cup in her hands.

Giles cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. The other members of our group have decided-"

"Demanded!" came the same feminine voice, but much less softly.

"-that they be allowed to join us on this morning's...expedition."

The beginnings of a smirk pulled at Charles' mouth. "Too early for you, Mr. Giles?"

"Me? No, not at all. My charges are, unfortunately, a different story altogether."

Giles was far more personable than Charles expected. So far neither of his two known quantities were behaving as expected, and there were still the two other members of their group: the female and a completely unknown, both likely to be around Buffy's age based on the way Giles spoke of them. All told, Charles wasn't exactly pleased with how this was unfolding, and the McIntyres weren't even out of the house yet. But he was amused.

They'd make terrible wolves, Brother Wolf mused.

Jealous?, Charles asked his brother.

Before he could get an answer, or not, McIntyre was standing fully clothed but barefoot in his front door. Coffee and other food smells traveled in tempting waves as the morning breeze rose and fell. The scent was strong enough to draw the other two travelers out of Giles' little car.

Charles' guess about the female was correct. "I smell coffee!"

"No!" came from the other three.

The instant refusal only dimmed the redhead's enthusiasm for a moment. "Sugar?"

That garnered No's from Buffy and Giles but an enthusiastic Yes! from the other backseat traveler - a young man about the same age as Buffy and the young woman. Charles was somewhat amused to note that he was a brunette. One of each? Brother Wolf asked, poking at Charles' amusement but not quite seeing the humor. After all, wolves came in all sorts of colorings and markings; human coloring was boring in comparison.

"All the sugar, yes please!" the young man said, bringing Charles attention back into focus. With the promise of food straightening his spine, he towered over his female companions although he was still an inch or two shy of Giles' six feet. Lanky in a way that spoke of his youth, there was also a body assuredness that suggested he used his body for more than playing video games. If he had to guess, Charles would say he was a part-time athlete or enjoyed being handy. The redhead wasn't as easy to read. There was something artificial about her energy, whether from caffeine she'd already consumed or as a reaction to their "field trip" Charles didn't know, but he'd lay odds on both.

So these were the Slayer's, Buffy's, best friends. This was the girl that had prompted a werewolf like Oz to take justice – vengeance – into his own hands. Charles' impression of Oz was that of a classic submissive wolf: calm, confident, self-assured and controlled. Or that was what he would be when he regained the sense of self he'd lost killing Veruca on this girl's behalf. Not for the first time, Charles found himself wondering about her. It took a lot to send a submissive into a murderous rage, as evidenced by the way Oz had been pulled into her sphere. If he had been older he might have been able to resist some of her influence, if not all of it. That hadn't been the case.

Then again if she hadn't gone after the girl, if she'd been satisfied with enticing the pup away from his pack and his chosen, Veruca might still be alive to cause trouble elsewhere.

He must have been staring at the girl as these thoughts chased themselves. Her shoulders were curling in protectively as her eyes found somewhere else to be. More telling, the— Buffy's attention, which had been on the boy, was now on the redhead. "You okay there, Wills?"

"We don't have time for sugar," Charles said before the girl could answer.

Now the boy was dejected, too. "Aw, c'mon, Mom. Please?"

But not nearly as intimidated. There was a hard glint to his eye as he came to stand behind the girl. That certainly drew the Sla- Buffy's attention. She sauntered in front of her friends. "Yeah, Mom. Please?"

A slow, unfriendly, smile pulled at Charles' lips. "Mom—?"

As if he'd called for her, Mrs. McIntyre came hurrying down the walk a heavily laden tray in hand. "I know we need to get going if we want to be there sooner than later, but if we eat and use the facilities now we should be able to push on longer at the start."

If we do this, we should be able to do that... Charles' smile turned more friendly in the face of such an experienced wolf handler. That he was utterly confident in his place in the world helped him not mind being managed.

"That is something to consider," Charles conceded.

Sensing victory, the boy perked. "Yummy deliciousness is ours for the nom-nomming?"

All three young people turned innocent, pleading eyes on Mrs. McIntyre. "You forget that I only recently got one of you out the house," she said with mock-sternness as she approached the apparently ravenous trio.

The redhead bounced on her toes. "Oh! Margaret, right?"

"How did you know?"

"Oz used to talk about her sometimes. She was his favorite cousin. Is his favorite," she quickly corrected, throwing a glance in Charles' direction. Which Buffy echoed with far less trepidation.

"The last time I spoke to my father, he and the pup had spent the afternoon in an acoustic jam session," he said. Charles turned to Mrs. McIntyre. "These smell homemade."

"They are homemade."

A wide grin split his face. From the corner of his eye he saw the boy dart forward. "Did I hear homemade?"

"You did, young man. Xander, yes?"

The question stopped his quick fingers from snagging their third pastry. "Oh, yeah. Hey. Manners. I have them. Um..." He glanced between the sticky fingers of one hand and the other busy holding pilfered pastries. "Please excuse my hands of happy stickiness."

Giles cleared his throat and Charles raised his eyebrow.

"Uh..."

Mrs. McIntyre grinned. "I quite understand."

"I don't," Buffy said to the other girl. "Do you?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion we'd rather not."

"Good enough for me."

"You girls must be Willow and Buffy," Mrs. McIntyre said.

The redhead raised her hand. "Willow."

Buffy followed her friend. "Buffy."

"Oz spoke of you three very fondly. Especially you, Willow."

"Oh..."

"Why don't we go inside and get this together? We are trying to get an early start." Mrs. McIntyre looked up at Charles as she spoke, radiating calm confidence to all his senses, as if she had no part in their delay.

Brother Wolf chuckled. The McIntyres got what they wanted and Charles didn't lose face. His father's mate would be a much happier woman if she ever stooped low enough to learn the skill.

With three cars they decided they could split the load of people and supplies more evenly by breaking up Giles' passengers amongst the other two cars. Or, more accurately, Willow was determined to ride with the McIntyres, Xander was fixed on sleeping, and Buffy had bounded over to Charles (in the lead car) with a pleased and perky air, chirping, "Pilot to copilot!"

Arms crossed over his chest, Charles' eyebrows had risen. "You want to drive?"

Xander, standing within earshot, had begun to laugh. Both Charles and Buffy had looked at him, a scowl on Buffy's face.

Xander had blushed. "Okay, so I find the humor of 5 year olds amusing. I thought this was a judgement-free field trip."

Coloring herself, Buffy had apologized to her friend before turning her attention back to Charles. "No, I'm not planning to drive, but 'Copilot to pilot!' doesn't have the same ring."

Amused in spite of himself, Charles had nodded. "Fine. How are you with a map?"

"Amazingly decent."

"Good to know."

They were now several hours into their trip and Charles hadn't asked for directions yet. Buffy kept looking at him askance. He couldn't quite see her eyes, but the sense of her presence strengthened whenever she looked her way. It didn't make up for their previous encounters, but even Brother Wolf agreed that it was a start.

The McIntyres' assessment that they would all travel more efficiently if they were fed and able to use the restroom before they left had been correct. Charles wasn't surprised. He was no stranger to long trips. He employed the same strategy often enough. His only excuse for not agreeing with Mrs. McIntyre's plan was the alpha posturing he and Buffy couldn't seem to resist whenever they were close enough for eye contact.

The bladder of a 5 year old could only be denied for so long, however.

Buffy turned towards Charles as she pulled her phone away from her ear. He could hear Willow talking to the McIntyres on the other end.

"Jordy needs to go to the little puppy's room. The sooner the better." Correctly interpreting Charles' raised eyebrow as a request for more information, she added, "Apparently he tried holding it way longer than he should have because somebody was on a schedule."

Her tone left no doubt as to which "somebody" was to blame.

Instead of responding, he signaled a lane switch and slowly brought their small caravan into what would become the exit lane.

"Whatcha doin'?" Somehow Buffy managed to say the words as if she were chewing bubblegum, though he knew there was nothing in her mouth. He half expected that if he looked at her, he'd find that she was twirling her blond hair around a finger.

"There aren't too many places in this part of the country that I'm not familiar with," he said instead of glancing her way. "I'm confident I can find something that will meet our needs."

"So is that, like, because you're really old or, like, you travel a lot?"

Just as when she'd said that she wasn't harboring a rogue, Charles tasted the edge of a lie in Buffy's words. This time, however, he was certain the partial truth was to be found in her dumb blonde act. She'd already proved she was anything but. "Does this usually work on people?" he said in lieu of answering her question.

"Does what usually work?" Her scent said that she was confused and defensive.

"Pretending to be a dizzy California girl and less intelligent than you obviously are." Charles kept his tone mild and even. Confused and defensive wolves could be dangerous. The same had been true of every Slayer he'd known. He had a feeling it was one of the few things Buffy had in common with her predecessors.

She squirmed a little in her seat, whether from being called out or the backhanded compliment, Charles couldn't guess. It had the desired effect either way. "And here I thought I was getting better with the subtle," she said with a mournful air and, when Charles hazarded a glance, an exaggerated pout.

Tasting no lies, he deigned to smile, but only a little. Samuel would have probably opened the door and flung himself out of the moving car, or laughed himself silly if he were there. Charles closed the door on those thoughts. "I have a few more years studying human behavior than you do."

"So you are old!"

Charles' second eyebrow rose to meet the first.

"Look, if you have 'a few more years' experience studying human soft-sell technique, then I've got plenty on studying the supernaturally old in young bodies."

"Do you always use ten words where two would suffice?" was his very dry response as he signaled that they were getting off the highway.

"Oh em gee…so old," was hers.

Chuckling, Charles guided their party off the highway and into town.

They turned the stop into a late breakfast/early lunch. Jordy once again was the motivating factor. Charles could see that the Slayer's team were surprised that he wasn't angry, or even annoyed. He had already factored in the boy's needs when planning the trip. Part of the reason he'd wanted to leave as early as possible was so they could push through while Jordy slept, and gain time they were going to lose as they stopped for the boy's comfort and the peace of his parents. Charles might not have children of his own, but he had enough experience traveling with those less able then himself to know to make allowances for them.

At the moment, only he and the girl Willow were at the round booth they'd chosen. Everyone else was in the restroom. He thought Buffy's friend was handling his silence well. She was confident enough not to fill the silence with chatter and for that Charles was grateful. She was, however, concentrating very hard on shredding a dinner roll into tiny, inedible bits. Having seen her interact with Jordy and the McIntyres, Charles was sure he was the source of her nerves.

He tensed as a stranger approached their booth from behind. Between them, Charles and Buffy had decided to sit on opposite sides of the booth, splitting their need to watch the exits. If he'd been on his own, and forced to choose the same booth, he probably would have taken the center seat. There were two other circular booths flanking their own, and a large triangular planter between them that could be relied on to protect their rear. Charles had used tables against attackers before. That, however, counted on having the upper hand on an approaching threat, which meant seeing them first. In which case he probably wouldn't have chosen a circular booth at all.

"This long haired fellow botherin' you, Miss?" The owner of the voice, the stranger, placed his hand next to Charles' head. Considering that Willow had sat down after Charles, it seemed like a stupid question to ask.

Willow, however, didn't react. Her attention was far more distant than Charles had realized as she continued to shred her dinner roll.

"Hey! Red! I'm talking to you," the stranger snapped.

Brother Wolf bristled. Charles wasn't exactly pleased himself. "It looks like she doesn't want to speak to you, friend."

"Stay out of it, Injun Pete," the stranger snarled down at Charles.

Brother Wolf dropped his growing anger in favor of amusement. 'Haven't heard that in a while.'

Apparently it had been enough to divert Willow's attention as well. Her eyes were flashing when she looked up at the stranger. "Hey! That was distinctly not called for, Mister."

"You and Injun Pete here an item or something?" the stranger said. If his sarcasm got any thicker the trailing vines of the plant behind their booth were going to curl up and die.

"Hey, very not cool, Mister Inappropriate. Charles has a name. Which is obviously Charles," she tacked on, more angry then flustered.

The stranger laughed - an ugly sound that was enough to make Charles actually wary for the first time. Then he did something that Charles could only guess at by the sudden silence of the diners around them and the sparks flashing in Willow's eyes. Actual, honest to God sparks.

'Latent witchblood,' Brother Wolf muttered in his ear as if Charles couldn't tell. True to form, Willow's latent heritage was making its appearance at what would quickly become the worst possible moment if things kept going the way they were.

Charles quickly stood and faced the stranger for the first time. Who was more amusing in person for all the wrong reasons than he'd been over Charles' shoulder. He towered over the stranger. "You should apologize. And then you should leave."

The stranger's eyes immediately dropped and his shoulders curled inward as the weight of Charles and Brother Wolf came to bear. But he still didn't apologize. He might not be particularly dominant, but he was stubborn and it was starting to annoy Charles. Who growled. A little.

The stranger's eyes shot to Charles' for a second before darting away. "S-sorry."

"Not to me," Charles said as he shifted his weight so that Willow was visible once more.

"Sorry, m-ma'am. I mean, M-miss. I'm sorry, Miss." The stranger nearly leapt at the opening Charles made when he shifted his weight further.

Charles retook his seat as Buffy joined the table, sitting at her friend's side. "Nice growl-work," she said, and it was a genuine compliment. "You okay Wills?"

"I could have taken him," Willow groused.

"Like totally! Your pencil action is second to none!"

"Yes," Charles and Brother Wolf said in general agreement with the sentiment if not the incomprehensible words.

"Oh! Um...thank you?"

He tipped his head in her direction as Brother Wolf said, 'Buffy brownie points, attained.'

They'd been riding with the Slayer too long.

"I'm sorry about that jerkface," Willow said to Charles, her expression still stormy.

"Yeah, and the rest of these neanderthals," Buffy chimed in, also very obviously unhappy. The 'jerkface' was the only person who had approached them, but he wasn't the only one in the diner who'd been giving their group – giving Charles – hostile looks from the moment they'd walked in. "You wanna make like a tree? There's gotta be someplace else on the road where we can graze in peace."

Smiling, Charles said, "If I only went places where I didn't stick out, I wouldn't go anywhere. I'm fine right here."

* * *

"Spit it out, Slayer," Charles said to the road ahead.

Like squirting water at a misbehaving pet, his words stopped Buffy in her tracks. Of course, like the proverbial pet, she was now annoyed with him, but it was better than whatever was going on in her head.

Whatever that was, Buffy had been sitting on it for most of the day. Traffic was getting heavier now, as they passed along the outskirts of a large city at the tail end of rush hour. It would be best if they found lodging for the night and arrive in Aspen Creek in the early afternoon. To do that, though, they'd have to survive the trip. Between the stress of sharing the road with less competent drivers and sharing the rental with Buffy's agitation, they weren't going to make it.

"I thought we had an agreement," Charles said very carefully, still watching the drivers ahead, who were all trying his usually considerable patience.

"You mean the one where you agreed to call me by my name?" Buffy wasn't growling, but she was definitely unhappy. Good.

"I mean the one where you're my copilot."

"What the what now?"

"Didn't you agree to be my copilot?"

He couldn't see it, but he thought she rolled her eyes when she said, "Like, duh. I'm here in ye olde copilot's seat."

"Then say whatever has been on your mind for the last six hours."

"It hasn't been six hours," she said, but there was no fight in it.

Charles shot her a quick glance, but didn't reply otherwise. Partly because he was too busy trying not to simply ditch the paved road for a dirt track that would take them far from rush hour traffic and it's questionable drivers. The SUV he'd rented could take it, but the other two vehicles in their little caravan couldn't.

Another idiot decided cutting in front of him to cross through a negligible gap between cars was smarter than waiting for the two-lane highway to open up as Charles (and surely this idiot with local plates) knew it would. Charles had the reflexes to pull off that kind of move, but even if he hadn't had Giles and the McIntyres following him, he wouldn't have attempted it. There were too many other drivers to account for. They had as much right to get home safely as the jerk now pulling the same maneuver several cars ahead of them.

Charles could feel a growl building in his chest. As could, apparently, Buffy. "Hey, I didn't think it was that serious."

"It's not you, it's fools like-"

"Like that guy trying to cause a six car pileup on the interstate?"

"Yes. Him. But your agitation is not helping."

"Oh alright!" Buffy huffed. "Look, I really appreciate the way you handled the situation with the jerkwad back at the first diner. You know, the one who was harassing you and Willow?"

He nodded.

"I mean you let her bawl him out without getting all macho alpha greasehead about it, and you stepped in before it could escalate."

"Your friend is witch-born, you know."

Buffy's entire being brightened as she nodded. "That's our Willow! She's been doing the Wicca earth magic thing for almost a year now. It even helped save the world once."

Charles shook his head. "Your friend is not just Wiccan. Somewhere in her family tree is one of the great Witch families - maybe more than one considering how weak genuine witch-blood is outside the remaining families."

"You say that like it's a problem." Gone was all her bubbly fellow-feeling.

"The probability of it becoming one is high."

"For us or for the wolves."

"Both."

"How?"

He'd already been thinking of how to discuss this with her, so his answer was readily available. "Latent witchblood likes to show up when it's least convenient to everyone involved. It can be big and destructive or subtle and destructive, but no one walks away untouched or unharmed. That's your problem."

"And the problem for the wolves?" He could hear Buffy's raised eyebrows.

"The Marrok doesn't particularly like witches."

Buffy groaned. "I was just about to get all gushy and tell you how not-a-bad-thing forming an alliance with the North American wolves would be."

Charles nodded. He'd been wondering.

"And so your dad's un-fondness for witches is a problem for you and not us, how?"

"My father also wants an alliance, if possible."

"He does know that alliance with me isn't an alliance with the next Slayer."

"But it does set precedent."

"Tricky, tricky wolves."

"Old, old wolves."

They lapsed into a silence that was far less charged than it had been only a few minutes before. Until Buffy broke it: "About this latent witchblood with the timing of Erica Kane during sweeps season."

That was strange enough to draw Charles' eyes from the road, only to find that Buffy was looking straight ahead. As his eyes came back around, he had a feeling this Slayer was going to make his father rethink the value of losing his ability to listen to the thoughts of others. "Yes."

"Is there a way to, y'know, soften the blow or whatever?" Now she did glance at him.

"Get her trained by an established witch now."

"That'll keep Wills from going boom without the shakalacka?"

Charles tried very hard not to smile. The subject was very serious and Buffy was quite earnest, but-

"Your friend's witchblood will still manifest, but the probability that it will happen in the presence of her mentor should mitigate the effects."

"Or maybe Wills will recognize what's happening and bring the drama down to zero."

"It's possible."

They continued to inch along, the silence almost as easy as it had been early that morning. And once again it was Buffy who broke it, fifteen minutes and a few hundred yards later. "Would Willow's teeny tiny streak of witchblood really stop the Marrok from forming an alliance with us?"

"While she's untrained? Yes. My father takes the safety of the packs very seriously. Your friend isn't very safe right now."

"But after she's trained?"

"You say that as if you're sure she'll want to be."

"Wills turn down a chance to learn something from an expert? Ha. Hahaha. Never happen. First of all: nerd. Like major. Second of all, she's got that protective thing going for her, too. The last thing she'll want to do is be a danger to us when a little learning will go a long way."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and swore. "Now there's a conversation that's going to be the kind of fun that's not."

"It's getting late," Charles said, "and we still have a long way to go. We should find a place to stay for the night."

Buffy pulled the map from where she'd hidden it during the drive. If she was studying it more intently than it deserved, Charles didn't feel the need to mention it.

Fin[ite]

* * *

 **Notes2:** Sorry this took so long to publish. It's been a busy week (I should be cleaning right now). Btw, you wouldn't happen to know the word of the day, would you? Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious?


	17. See What's Coming

**Title:** See What's Coming (It's Alright)  
 **Character(s):** Buffy Summers, Charles Cornick, Oz Osbourne, Bran Cornick, The McIntyre Family, Sage Carhardt, Rupert Giles, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris  
 **Rating:** FR-13/PG  
 **Summary:** The road trip is over, and there is no more hiding for anyone. (Series end)  
 **Length:** ~5,709 words  
 **Notes:** This is the last story in the series. Please see the end for additional notes.

HR

"You came back."

Surprised, Oz paused at the threshold of the dining room. Standing at the sideboard behind the Marrok was the blond female werewolf who had talked to him on the side of the road, post-freak - the one who had stood in the hall and listened to them play without ever coming inside.

"I was wondering if you would," she added

"I see you two have already met," the Marrok said from behind his newspaper when Oz didn't respond.

The woman finished preparing her plate then sat down. It was such a domestic scene that Oz stood in the threshold, silent and blinking, for a long minute. He considered going back to his room and going back to sleep. He'd been reluctant to leave his bed that morning. The Marrok's interference aside, he hadn't slept so well in two months or more. He wouldn't have minded more.

Then his stomach growled. "Get some breakfast, Oz," the Marrok said, paper lowered.

Oz ducked his head and went straight to the sideboard. Both the Marrok and the woman eyed his plate as he sat beside her. Oz looked at it again and realized he'd filled it human-normal. Even the cold remains of the Marrok's breakfast suggested he'd had a meal an active Marine would find daunting. Oz stood without a word and tripled what was on his plate.

The Marrok nodded and returned to his paper. The woman reached out to card Oz's hair. Not sure how he felt about the unsolicited contact, he dug into his food without acknowledging it.

Silence reigned for long minutes as Oz and the woman made short work of their protein-heavy meals. At one point, the Marrok put down his paper, stood, went to the sideboard, brought back the platter of Canadian bacon and proceeded to add several slices to Oz's plate. He looked at the woman, who shrugged, before adding the remainder to her plate.

Oz paused long enough to clear his throat. "Thank you."

The Marrok chuffed as he sat again. "I was beginning to wonder if you had any manners at all. They seem to be going out of fashion in the last century or so."

Which reminded Oz... He cleaned his hands on his napkin and extended the right to the woman. "I don't think I introduced myself yesterday. Daniel Osborne. Most people call me Oz."

"So I've heard," the woman said as she took his hand, smirking a little as she did so. "Leah Cornick, Bran's mate and wife."

"So I've been told," Oz said with a smile to match hers as he pulled his hand away.

"The two of you haven't met then?" the Marrok said, watching them.

"Not formally," Leah said.

"But Leah was of the wise yesterday," Oz said. When Bran raised his eyebrows, he dropped his eyes to his plate and added, "After I ran away. I had thoughts." At Leah's raised eyebrows, a very small smile pushed past Oz's lips. "Many of them."

Leah snorted and reached over to ruffle Oz's hair before going back to her breakfast.

Still unsure how he felt about it, Oz again ignored the gesture as if it hadn't happened. When he looked up from his plate, however, the Marrok was watching him. Oz's eyes dropped to his bacon. American. "Huh."

"What?" the Marrok asked.

"My plate is international."

Leah made a vaguely amused sound and reached for Oz.

The Marrok touched her nearer hand, drawing her attention to him before her hand could land on Oz. "We have guests coming this afternoon. Will you be here?"

"Do you want me to be?" Leah's words were innocuous, but her tone was anything but. Oz pretended he wasn't there and kept eating.

"They're important guests. I'm surprised you don't want to introduce yourself."

Though she'd returned to her breakfast, Oz could tell the Marrok had her attention at 'important'. "Another meeting with the Central American alphas?"

The Marrok folded his paper. "This is as important, possibly more so." He stood, leaned over and dropped a kiss on his wife's forehead. "I'll tell you about it when you get home." Straightening, he turned and left.

Leah popped up from her seat, abandoning her plate to follow behind him. "What guests, Bran?" she demanded. "Just how important are they?"

"Very," the Marrok told Leah as they left, his tone still mild.

"Then why am I only hearing about them now?"

They had passed into the hall, still talking, when Oz heard the Marrok in his head: 'I want you there, too, Oz. Don't go far.'

Not sure how to respond to voices in his head giving him non-murderkill orders, Oz tried a mental and a verbal "Yes, sir." There was no answer.

HR

Buffy settled herself into the passenger seat of Charles' rental, snapping her seatbelt into place as Charles was hitting the END button on his cell phone. He flipped the matte black device closed before tucking it into an angled pocket on the lower dashboard.

"Fancy," Buffy said.

"Annoying," Charles replied conversationally.

"I would totally be willing to take it off your hands, y'know, as a sign of goodwill from my party to yours."

Charles glanced up from the once-over he was giving the dash (they'd stopped long enough to top off everyone's tank and switch riders/drivers as needed) into a grinning Buffy, conscientiously not showing too many teeth. He quirked an eyebrow.

Sighing, Buffy said, "So you and Wills had a nice ride?" She looked more curious than concerned, Charles noted as he signaled to Giles and the McIntyres that he was ready to pull off when they were.

"I mean...pleased. She looked it."

"In spite of riding with a killjoy like myself?" Charles supplied after parsing the awkward statement.

Buffy grinned. "I was going to call you a grumpypuss, but killjoy works."

Willow had ridden with Charles for several hours that morning after their first extended rest stop. He'd been amused, but not entirely surprised, when she'd slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow as they had all left that day's diner, her expression demanding comment from patrons and staff alike. There had been no repeat of the previous day's encounter, but the same judgmental cloud had hung over them.

On the way out the door, Charles had shared a look with a lone Latino man, although he could as easily have been of Middle Eastern or African-American descent or some ethnic mix he couldn't begin to guess. Charles' brows had lifted, and the man had shaken his head as he went back to his eggs. Seconds later, Charles had led Willow out the door behind the McIntyres and Xander, who was very carefully not staring.

More surprising had been Willow climbing into the car instead of Buffy. "So. That was, um..."

Strapping himself into his seat, Charles had been further surprised to find Willow was blushing. "Regret your decision to continue to stand up for me?" he asked, amused and annoyed. It wouldn't have been the first time.

The mild accusation had snapped her out of her embarrassment. "What? No! Never! Those people were...! I mean there wasn't a guy this time but – and besides, that guy from yesterday was...! Oh! It almost makes me want to wish."

"Wish what?" Charles had politely asked when it became obvious that she want going to say something else.

Willow had huffed. "Wouldn't D'Hoffryn like to know!"

"Pardon?"

"Long story-with-demons. The moral? Don't make angry wishes, they just might come true and then no one will ever get to eat shrimp ever again."

Staring at the young woman, Charles had silently changed his mind about his father regretting being able to listen into the thoughts of others. He might never find his way back again if he fell into the mind of the Slayer and her friends. "Would that have actually made sense if I knew the context?" he'd asked Willow.

"All the sense! All of it!"

Feeling that her response had been too emphatic, Charles hadn't pushed for more. Instead he'd started the car, signaling to the others that they were pulling off. By the time they were on the highway, Willow had begun nervously worrying the hem of her sweater.

"Tell me, Willow."

"LastnightBuffysaidyousaidIwasawitchywitchandreallydangerousunlessIlearntocontrolmywitchbloodbutIdon'tknowanyonelikethatandIdontwanttogetmyfriendshurt!"

Trying to parse Willow's verbal onslaught had nearly caused Charles to miss a lane divide. If he had spent a few decades around teenagers he might have had more to work with. Many of Aspen Creek's young people found him to be a quelling presence, however, and actively avoided him when they could.

Charles had made the lane divide, but had needed to pull over with his hazard lights flashing so that Giles and the McIntyres, who, understandably, hadn't been prepared for him to suddenly lose focus, could catch up. "So," he'd said while they'd waited for the others, "you want my help finding a teacher?"

"Yes, please."

"Why not ask your friend, Mr. Giles?"

Flushing a hot red, she'd said, "Well, you knew...know...what I am just by looking. And not that Giles isn't wonderful, because he is - he's amazing! - but all this time he didn't notice this awful Big Bad Waiting To Happen in their midst! I mean, what if I'd hurt someone?" she'd added mournfully. Then, as if remembering something far away, she'd added, "These kinds of things don't just fix themselves."

The others had made it to their side of the road by then, so Charles had been shifting gears when he'd nodded in agreement. "They do not."

As he had done at the lane divide with Willow earlier, Charles smoothly pulled out of the gas station with Buffy and his small caravan in tow. "Willow and I had a nice ride, yes," Charles told Buffy, his eyes trained on the traffic ahead.

"Yay, good time! So how long before you think we'll be at Aspen Creek?"

HR

"Can Ozzie come out and play?"

Bran looked up at Sage standing in the doorway of his study. He caught her eyes a moment before she dropped them as he set his desk phone back in the cradle. "Ozzie?"

"Adorably taciturn puppy in need of a good home and a few low-stress playdates?" Sage said, grinning all the way.

"I didn't thank you for bringing him back last night," Bran said.

"I know he would have been safe to wander in on his own, but it didn't seem right."

"Oh. Something I should know?"

Sage lifted an elegant shoulder. "I'd really look into those low-stress playdates. They're getting really popular."

Brows lifting, Bran said, "Is that what you're asking for? A playdate?"

Sage turned the full power of her Southern Beauty Queen smile on Bran.

He didn't so much as blink.

"Please." She batted her perfectly made up eyes at him.

Silence.

"Oh! You could pretend to be effected."

"No I can't, Sage." Bran picked up his pen and made a notation on the paper in front of his desk phone. "If you promise not to go far and to bring him back by lunch, you and Oz may have your playdate."

Sage nearly squealed before catching herself. Instead she settled for a more restrained, "Thank you, sir!"

"He's not a pet," Bran reminded her.

"But I want to keep him."

Bran gave her a baleful look. She took the unsubtle hint and backed out of the doorway.

Bran waited until he was sure she was gone before he slumped in his chair. He wanted to keep Oz, too.

HR

Oz eyed the guitar in Sage's hand warily. "Does the Marrok know you have that?" Oz's own guitar had been abandoned along with the remains of his van somewhere outside LA.

"His name is Bran, sugar, and he suggested you'd want it." Sage made a show of studying it then him. "Was he wrong?"

Oz shrugged, reaching for the guitar. It was the same acoustic he'd played the day before. "When he snagged you on the way out, I thought he was telling you to bring me back by supper."

She smiled her supermodel smile (which, if Oz were being honest with himself, was probably also her 'I'm quite happy and pleased with life right now' smile). "That, too. But only if supper is the same as lunch."

"Are you always this happy, Sage?" he asked out of honest curiosity, the voices of the- of Bran and Asil in the back of his head.

She shook her head, taking the question seriously. "Some people think so, but not really. No.."

"On purpose?"

"Am I happy on purpose?" Her smile turned sly. "You make me happy, Ozzie, being around you."

"Because I'm a submissive wolf?" Again, Oz asked out of curiosity, but the thread of anger running through it surprised him.

"That makes me feel protective. I don't have to like you to feel like I should watch out for you."

Oz thought of Buffy and her calling and all the people she'd saved. For some of them, maybe a lot of them in high school, the only thing they'd had in common was a mutual dislike.

"I like you for you."

"You don't know me," Oz countered.

"Not well," Sage conceded. "But if what I know so far is like the rest of you, I think we'll do alright. Although..." Hey eyes narrowed as she studied him. "I get the impression I won't be able to call you Ozzie forever."

Rather than respond, Oz reached for the guitar. "Any requests?"

HR

"If these mountains get any higher, I think I'm gonna get a nose bleed."

Charles glanced over at Buffy who, despite her complaint, was avidly watching the scenery speed by. "Afraid of heights, Slayer."

"Afraid of my birthday, maybe, but heights?" She snorted. "Although falling would suck majorly."

"You don't fall?"

"Me?"

Charles felt her eyes on him.

"Between dance and cheerleading and ice skating, I used to fall all the time. Mostly while learning new routines. The bruising was for serious. Like A-League-of-Their-Own levels of bruising. Then I got Called and, wouldn't you know, falling's not really a thing anymore. Now being thrown... Different story."

Neither of them had anything to say for a while after that. They'd hashed out a number of preliminary negotiating points hours before. Charles sensed that Buffy was ready to handle the other portion of their trip and was mostly restraining herself from urging him to speed along the winding Montana roads by commenting on the scenery. It was beautiful country all year, but far more stunning (and dangerous) in the depths of a snowclad winter. Charles wasn't anticipating any serious clashes between his father and Buffy, but he was glad they wouldn't have to track an angry Slayer through snow.

"We'll be there soon," he told her.

He half expected her heart rate to pick up or for an astringent note of concern to thread her scent. When, however, her scent took on the metallic bite of resolve and her shoulders squared, Charles wasn't surprised.

HR

Willow climbed out of the McIntyre's car with help from Mr. McIntyre, Jordy in her arms. "I can take him you know," he said as they slowly worked together.

"I'm not actually sure you can," she said, laughter in her voice. Standing now, she slowly pulled her hands away from the little boy's body. He didn't move an inch. "No hands!"

Jordy's octopus like grip tightened around her neck and waist, so Willow did her best dashboard-hula dancer impersonation.

"Hey!" he groused as he sleepily rubbed his nose into the exposed skin around her collar.

"Hay is for horses young man." She and Mr. McIntyre shared a grin.

Xander joined them from Giles' car. "Nice moves there, Wills." Giles looked on with fond amusement but, having just woken himself, didn't say anything.

Buffy, standing on the running board of Charles' rental SUV, opened her mouth to add to the good-natured teasing then frowned. "Anyone else hear music?"

The street they were on was a largely deserted, typical suburban street: The land looked spacious and well kept, and were large enough to please the native Californians in the group. "Based on the size and the number of the trees," Giles began, "Aspen Creek is a better established town than most of than most of similar size." He came to stand near the center of the loosely grouped party. "Given the time of day, and that it is midweek, it's no surprise that we're quite alone."

"But I hear something!" Buffy said as she, now on the ground beside the SUV.

Nodding, Mr. McIntyre said, "I hear it, too."

Jordy, still holding onto Willow with all his might as she made slow silly shapes with her hips, propped his chin on his caretaker's shoulder. "Hear it."

"As do I," Charles said.

Frowning, Xander said, "Maybe someone left their radio on and only the mystically enhanced can hear it?"

"My father is well known for his love of music," Charles said.

"Does he play any instruments?" Buffy asked.

"Several."

As if to underline Giles' point, every head turned when a door opened nearby, loud enough for all to hear in the general quiet. Three men and a woman spilled out of the front door of the house where Charles had directed them to park. All four appearing to be in their prime or a little younger.

"What is it with the supernatural?" Xander muttered.

Brows furrowed, Buffy hazarded a glance back at him.

"In what Normal Town, USA would that many good looking people step out of a house together? And one of them is supposedly the leader of the Free Furry World."

"Only North America," Charles corrected quietly.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Buffy's lips. "Are you saying me and Charles are pretty, Xan?"

Xander blushed. "You, Buffster? Always. I guess Charles is alright," he tacked on in a hasty mumble.

"Acquired a new admirer, Charles?" the only woman, a blond, said once they were in human-normal earshot. Her tone was as far from joking as it could get without being an outright accusation.

Willow bristled, an indignant "Hey!" rolling off her lips just as Buffy bounded forward, all but bouncing on her toes.

"We, like, totally are!" A megawatt smile, bright enough for a dozen cheer squads, lit Buffy's face. Her hands were clasped behind her, as if she had to hold herself back from being even perkier still. Except to those standing behind her - which now included Charles - who could see her clenched fists. "It's been an amazing trip!"

It was obvious the blond woman didn't know what to do with all of Buffy's bubbly enthusiasm. She also seemed not to realize that it was as false as it was cheerful. Instead she looked Buffy up and down with a barely contained sneer. "I thought you didn't like blonds, Charles."

"It seemed imprudent to go after my father's wife," was Charles' response.

"And she calls you a cradle robber?" Buffy said over the sound of jaws falling to the pavement behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at Charles. "Your dad, like, totally gets carded when you guys go places, doesn't he?"

All the jaws that had made it back into their proper place went back on the ground. The youngest looking of the three men stepped forward. "How did you guess?"

"Eh, you meet one preternaturally young old guy who knows how to make his power go bye-bye, you've met them all."

"Buffy!" Giles said softly but sharply. He'd wandered closer as the two blondes had taken each other on. "Let's not cause an interspecies incident before we've even sat down at the negotiating table."

"Oh but Giles! She started it." Buffy's half-turn to look at Giles meant that she had her back towards the Marrok's wife. "I can't help it if I have overactive protective instincts. It's one of those crazy Slayer things that just comes with."

Recognizing Buffy's insult for what it was, the other woman fumed. "Bran-!" she started.

"Slayer..." he said, a touch of menace alongside his otherwise paternal tone.

She turned fully to them both, bright cheerleader smile back in place. "Yes?"

"As both my mate and my son are wolves, I believe they both fall under my authority."

Buffy rocked back on her heels. "Okay! Besides, I know I wouldn't want-"

Giles' glare behind her back was saying, Interspecies incident! rather stridently.

"-to take on even more responsibility than I have to. Freshman year...not the party fun times they promised on TV."

Charles had moved to stand at his father's side as his second while Buffy spoke. Now, with the lines more clearly drawn, silence fell between the two parties. Even the birds had stopped chattering and the breeze stilled.

"Patience Girl, I am not." Completely dropping her stance and most of the perky cheerleader routine, Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Start a fight because somebody's manners are less than par, I am also not." At the chorus of snorts behind her, she shot an affronted glance back at her friends. "Is or is not Cordy still alive? And it's totally not my fault that Snyder didn't make it out at graduation!"

"She has a point." "Not that anyone would have faulted you." "I guess..." came from Xander, Giles and Willow more or less simultaneously.

"If anyone was going to die from gross lack of manners it would've been those two," Buffy explained to the non-Sunnydalers, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of it all. "And yet one of them is currently an aspiring actress-slash-part-time do-gooder in LA."

"And the other?" the Marrok asked with studied casualness.

Buffy made a face and said, "Eaten at graduation by our mayor, an aspiring hell-demon."

Giles sighed. "I did advise him not to stand so close on the dais."

Silence fell again, but it was less tense. A light breeze shifted fly-away hair and dried sun-sweat.

"I had hoped that we could negotiate a fair treaty, Slayer, but I will not tolerate anyone insulting my wife and mate," the Marrok said matter-of-factly.

Buffy shrugged. "I won't if she won't."

"Buffy..." That from Giles.

"But I guess I can ignore whatever she gets up to when it's between you guys. Fair?"

"Sure," the Marrok said with almost as much cheer as Buffy had been leveling only moments before.

Buffy tensed. "Please don't do that again. I promise to put Perky Buffy away if you don't do that again."

Laughing, he stuck out his hand. "Deal. We haven't actually been introduced. Bran Cornick."

Buffy took his hand. "Buffy Summers."

"You know my second and son, Charles Cornick," Bran said as they released. He gestured to his left. "My wife and mate, Leah Cornick. Whom you've also met. Behind me are two senior wolves from my pack: Asil Moreno and Colin Taggert."

Buffy gave a brief nod to each wolf in turn. When Bran was done, she made her own introductions: "This is Rupert Giles, my Watcher. By the car is Xander. By the other car are the McIntyre's… Jordan and his wife Maureen."

"As wolves, shouldn't they be on my side?"

Buffy shrugged. "Figured that was part of the negotiations."

Bran raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise respond to her comment. Instead he indicated the pair now standing furthest away. "You seem to have forgotten two members of your party."

"Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"I forgot how good a Slayer can be."

"I bet you didn't, but it's sweet of you to sa-" Buffy cut herself off as a familiar shape filled the door of Bran's home.

But it was Willow who spoke his name. "Oz?"

She had stopped making hooping motions when Buffy had turned serious. If it had all gone south, she'd have run for it with Jordy in her arms, confident that their people could hold off the Marrok's people long enough to find a hiding place. It hadn't gone south, though. It wasn't sunshine and roses, but it wasn't silver bullets and holy water, either.

"Willow," Oz said, approaching the groups slowly with a tall, slender woman trailing behind, a guitar in his hands.

Willow hitched Jordy higher on her hip and made her own way forward. She stopped midstride when she realized she had passed Mrs. McIntyre. Backing up a step, she offered to pass Jordy to his mother.

Ruffling her son's hair, she shook her head. "This is why we're here. It can't be avoided forever," she added catching Buffy's eye. Mrs. McIntyre leaned forward and kissed her son's hair. "We'll see you later, 'kay. You're gonna stay good?"

Jordy nodded enthusiastically, but didn't otherwise make a move to be released from Willow's arms. "Is that really Uncle Oz?" he asked her.

"I think so. Let's find out!"

Oz worked his way around the knot of wolves surrounding Bran to meet them. Willow skirted around Buffy to do the same. As soon as he was close enough, Oz pulled Willow and Jordy into a strong hug. Half-turning in Willow's arms, Jordy hugged his uncle around the neck while the adults touched foreheads. Oz took a deep breath then seemed to sigh with his whole body. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said in return, a smile blooming on her face.

"It would appear that you two know each other," Bran said

"Three!" Jordy said, sending a ripple of laughter through the adults as Willow and Oz separated.

"Oz," Bran said, addressing him without taking his eyes off Jordy, "you seem to know everyone, and everyone seems to know you. Why don't you finish making the introductions?"

Oz shot him a look before coming forward to stand in the space between Bran and Leah. "So, um, this is my ex-girlfriend, Willow-"

"Ex-ex," Willow quickly interjected.

"Really? But, Wills, I-"

"It doesn't matter." Willow's eyes flicked over Bran and back again.

"Even if it didn't we're still-"

This time a rather loud cough from Giles interrupted Oz. Both young people colored as Buffy and Xander snickered in the background.

"Uh, and this is my cousin Jordy," Oz said, quickly getting them back on track. "Willow and Jordy, this is Bran Cornick, the leader of all the North American werewolves, also known as the Marrok.

"Everyone," he said, turning to the Sunnydale contingent, "the woman behind me is Sage. She's one of the wolves in the Aspen Creek pack. She's been my tour guide. And friend," he added softly.

"Hello." Willow tried to wave but couldn't quite muster it with the preschooler in her arms. "It's, um, nice to meet you."

Bran stepped forward, reaching for Jordy. "Let's give Miss Willow the use of her hands, shall we?"

Before Willow could protest, the youngster was twisting in her arms reaching for the Marrok in return. She threw a horrified glance over her shoulder. Buffy, Giles and Xander's expressions were shuttered, but the McIntyres were nodding.

"It's why we're here," Oz's uncle reminded her, echoing his wife. Walking hand in hand, they approached the Marrok and his group. "Everything's gonna be fine."

"Promise?" Xander called, the question directed to Bran.

Who carefully shook his head. Jordy was running a miniature toy truck around his crown while Leah and Taggert looked on in amusement. Charles and Asil never took their eyes off the Slayer. "Mind the lumps, buddy," Bran said to Jordy.

"Okay."

To the Slayer's group, the McIntyres and Oz he said, "I can't promise that everything will be okay because I can't know everything, but I have a pretty good feeling that they will be. Let's say we finish this inside."

With that he turned on his heel and offered Jordy to Leah to hold – who happily took the boy in her arms. If there was any doubt about the Scoobies following, that sealed it. The McIntyres led the way, until Oz stopped them. "Aunt Maureen, Uncle Jordan, I'm…I'm so sorry. I should have-"

Standing closer, Jordan McIntyre cut him off with a fierce one-armed hug. "If there's any blame, it's ours," he said into his nephew's hair. Willow grabbed at his hand.

"Even if we were scared of what our alpha would have done, we could have always come straight to the Marrok. He has a reputation for being fair. Instead we let our fear make decisions for us, and you were turned against your will."

"Jordy was just a little kid. Practically a baby," Oz said into his uncle's shoulder.

"But we weren't." Jordan McIntyre clapped his nephew on the back. "All things considered, it's pretty okay. And it's gonna be okay. Whatever happens."

Nodding, Oz stepped back from his uncle and aunt, allowing them to follow Bran and his wolves. Willow squeezed his hand.

Buffy stopped next giving him a quick, assessing once-over as she did. "First, I swear that I will not let them do anything to hurt Jordy."

"Thanks, Buff."

"Second, and this is kinda weird, you look like you could use a good night's sleep but you also look better?" She scrunched up her nose. "Like I said, weird."

Oz smiled. "S'okay. It's cool." Then they also exchanged one-armed hugs. Buffy, hanging off his shoulder, gave Willow a thumbs up. "Stand by your man, Wills!"

"Buffy!" Willow hissed in return. "Don't you have a Jordy to protect?"

"Right! On it!"

Giles and Xander were on her heels. Giles offered Oz a handshake. "It is very good to see you, Oz. I am rather confident that this will all work out well."

"Thanks, Giles."

Before Giles could continue, Xander edged closer. "Hey, Oz, digging your taste in new friends," he said in a stage-whisper.

"Careful. I'm pretty sure Sage bites."

"Only the pretty ones, Ozzie," Sage said, her smile perhaps a little too toothsome.

"Uh…" Xander's jaw was working but nothing else came out.

Giles grabbed Xander by the elbow. "Forgive him. He has a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease."

Sage and Willow giggled as the pair retreated to the house. "Looks like I'm next," Sage said with a grin. "It's nice to meet you, Willow. I do hope you'll get a chance to stay and visit with us for a while."

"I, uh, I think I- I mean I think we will. Be staying a bit. To visit." Willow squeezed Oz's hand between both of hers. "Um…"

"Good! I can give you the tour."

"Okay."

"Okay!" Sage leaned down and kissed first Willow's them Oz's cheek. "Now don't take too long out here, you love birds. Bran is going to want to say whatever he has to in front of Oz at least. Don't know how long that will take, but it's best not to keep them all waiting."

Waving her fingertips at them, she turned on her heel and hustled into the house.

Suddenly Willow and Oz were alone on the street, with only the stray breeze and errant birdsong for company. "Hey," he said to her.

"Hey," she said to him, turning to face him fully.

"So. You guys are staying awhile? Even after the Marr- Bran makes his decision?"

"Well I am. I'm staying. I don't know about the rest of the Scoobies, or your aunt and uncle."

Oz frowned. "You guys haven't talked about it?"

"I, uh, kinda discussed it with Charles."

"Why Charles and not Buffy, Xander and Giles?"

"Because, um, I, uh…" Willow began fidgeting on her feet, but Oz only ran his thumb over her knuckles in a smooth, soothing sweep.

Eventually she took a deep breath and stilled herself. "It turns out I have witchblood. Like, not just you average, happy float-a-pencil-at-a-vamp-with-handy-dandy earth-magic wiccan, but more like make-the-dead-rise-and-control-the-beasts-of-the-field witchblood."

"Your magic has been getting a lot better this year, baby."

"Apparently…apparently I'm just tapping into the surface of my heritage. And if I'm n-not careful, I c-could d-do some ser-serious damage."

Oz untangled their hands so he could rub away the goosebumps he could see forming on her bare arms. "How serious?"

"Yesterday, at this diner, I nearly shot eye-lasers at this racist jerkwad for insulting Charles."

"Nifty."

Willow hit him in the arm. "Oz!"

Who chuckled. "If he was being a racist jerkwad, I'm sure he deserved it."

"Yeah, but what if I'm having a bad day in chem-lab and I explode, and then the whole building explodes? That's not funny anymore. That's people hurt and killed because I don't know how to handle my own DNA."

"Okay. So how does hanging around Aspen Creek help us?"

"Uh the Marrok has already sorta kinda agreed to let me stay and train with him a bit, if the treaty between him and Buffy works out. Actually, Charles was pretty sure his dad kinda wouldn't even want look at a treaty once he found out there was an untrained witch in the Slayer's circle of friends. Too dangerous."

"You? Dangerous?"

"I know right!" Willow interjected.

"I could see it."

"What?"

"Wills," he said solemnly, "Resolve Face has to come from somewhere. Imagine Resolve Face!Willow with real power-"

"But-"

"-and a crisis. I'm not saying you'd destroy the world, but you might do more damage than you ever intended." He took her hands again. "You don't think you're capable of doing terrible things until someone you love is hurt or in danger. And by the time you find out what you're capable of, it's too late to take it back."

Willow folded him into a hug. "Oz, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Wills. Veruca shouldn't have come after either of us. I'd…do it again if I had to, but," he pulled away to look her in the eye, "maybe if I'd had a pack I wouldn't have had to."

She nodded, then folded herself into his arms again.

"So," Oz started, "Bran is going to train you?"

Nodding against his shoulder, Willow said, "I, um, get the impression that he might be a little witchy? Maybe? Probably he knows one that he trusts."

Silence fell between them, comfortable and familiar. Oz shifted to bury his nose in her hair. "I've missed you."

"Me, too."

"We should go inside."

Willow pouted against his shoulder. "Do we have to?"

"The Marrok is calling me. I can hear him in my head."

"Really?" Willow said as they disengaged from each other. "That would be a nifty skill to have in the fight against evil."

"Maybe that can be your first lesson."

"I'll have to ask."

"First you have to tell the gang about staying."

"Aww, do I gotta?"

"Yeah." Oz brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "But I'll be right there with you."

[in]Fin[ite]


End file.
